


Vindicating a Man of Consequence: Gaining her Heart (VMC I)

by LainaLee



Series: Vindicating a Man of Consequence [1]
Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 142,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LainaLee/pseuds/LainaLee
Summary: Presenting a "what if" Darcy had autism variation.Darcy knows that he is fundamentally different than other people, but doesn't have a name for what is wrong with him, which has him doubting his own self-worth. Darcy has let others control his life for far too long as he tried to hide his secret to prevent disgracing the Darcy name. However, after meeting Elizabeth he longs for something more and finally has the impetus to be his own man. Aided by Bingley and Georgiana, Darcy must overcome the opposition of Edwin (the Colonel) and Lady C. who wish to see him matched with Anne and address his own fear to pursue the woman he loves. Darcy isn't sure if Elizabeth can love him as he is, but ultimately he must be honest with her to gain his HEA. Told from Darcy's POV. Fully revised; part I of III.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mr. Bennet/Mrs. Bennet (Pride and Prejudice), William Collins/Charlotte Lucas
Series: Vindicating a Man of Consequence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005231
Comments: 35
Kudos: 77





	1. Prologue: Lady Anne: I Admit the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this story to everyone who has autism, loves someone who has autism, knows someone with autism and/or is willing to learn more about autism. My oldest son has autism and he is the inspiration for this story.
> 
> The majority of this story is from Darcy's POV. However, occasionally there will be what I call an interlude (with the prologue also being one), which will be from another character's POV.
> 
> I am excited to announce that Spanish version of Vindicating a Man of Consequence: Gaining her Heart is now in the process of being posted by Serendipia Efimera at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/9984695/Serendipia-Efimera
> 
> I know many of you may have seen this work on fanfiction.net. However, if you could leave a comment, I would still appreciate it.

_There is something wrong with my son._

The thought had passed through my mind on many occasions, but I never let it linger, never wrote it down before, as if omitting it would keep it from being true. Now that the words were there, they stared back up at me and each swirl of the letters became imprinted in my mind.

There were many more things I could have written then, many signs that I had ignored, many little things that were just slightly off and many big things that were obviously different, too. But instead, after the ink dried, I closed my journal. I carefully put it away in a drawer and lay down on my bed.

I did not cry then. If I could have cried, I think the tears would have been a relief. Instead I mourned with dry eyes for what could have been and what could not be.

George had known. He had always known it seemed, but I had not believed my husband, and I would not take any comfort from him now.

Although the journal was put away, I kept seeing the inked words before me, as permanent as a sailor's tattoo. How could I have written that down? I felt by doing so, I betrayed my son.

"There is nothing wrong with Fitz," I whispered to myself. Even now with the evidence so clear I felt I must be mistaken. For how could anything be wrong with my beloved son, my only child?

Then I thought about Nurse Storey's words from earlier that day. She said, "Lady Anne, nothing has changed. Master Darcy is still the same boy you loved yesterday and will love tomorrow. Your perception may have changed, but that is all. He can still have a good life. He just needs a bit more help and love."

I wanted her to be right, but I doubted. Unmistakably, he is very different from his Fitzwilliam cousins. Still, her words gave me hope.


	2. Her Ribbon

I thought I would feel relief when they left, but instead Netherfield felt a tomb, all grey and monotonous without Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Bingley must have felt similarly as he told me, "How quiet and lonely Netherfield now seems since Miss Bennet and her sister left."

I said nothing. My mind was more pleasantly engaged in staving off my present melancholy with memories from Miss Elizabeth's stay at Netherfield:

There was the morning when Miss Elizabeth arrived to see her sister, her dark eyes sparking, a becoming stain of pink upon her cheeks from the exertion of the walk. Her loveliness drew me forward like a magnet, although I stopped myself before I closed the distance more than a step or two.

I remember mumbling a quick, "Good morning, Miss Bennet," but leaving it to Bingley and his sister to speak with her about her sister. I paid little mind to that conversation as I was occupied with considering both the brilliancy of her complexion from her walk and feeling a sort of worry about the perils she could have faced from walking all alone just to visit a sister with a bad cold.

I likely stared at Miss Elizabeth as I examined her eyes more closely, letting everything fall away from me but my consideration of her. From the sun streaming in the windows, her eyes were a brownish-green hazel, darker toward the center with flecks of gold, rimmed with a circle of chocolate, rather than being a muddy brown as I had earlier supposed.

I remember my thinking kept circling around to Miss Elizabeth that day. I both wanted to speak with her and dreaded the uncertainty that such a conversation might entail. Miss Bingley, as always, attempted to occupy my attention. I recall, though, exchanging a bit of conversation with Miss Elizabeth that the evening in discussing accomplished ladies. By the light of the candles and the fire her eyes were dark, like coffee, and I drank them in, wanting more.

I cared only for Miss Bingley's list regarding accomplished ladies as I know that is what society expects, what my father expected. However, almost without my volition, I added my dearest hope, that "to all this she must add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading." For the bride I desire, shall always be learning. What exchanges I could have with such a bride! Again, Miss Bingley complained and again I deflected, believing she was setting up her own talents as superior as a net to catch me in.

Later, when Miss Elizabeth informed us her sister was worse, I felt I should care more about her condition. That was what was expected of me, and Bingley reacted as he ought. But as for me, I could only think about the fact that this development would result in Miss Elizabeth staying longer at Netherfield. I did not understand the mix of excitement and dread this filled me with.

While the Bingley sisters played their duets, I imagined holding Miss Elizabeth in my arms as we danced. It was difficult to sleep that night while I had inappropriate carnal thoughts about her, kissing her hand without a glove between my lips and her skin. Her hand was warm and soft in my imagining, like the petals of my mother's roses.

Then there was that evening when I had been occupied myself with a book, studying maps of New England in our former colonies. I recall I was looking at a map of Boston in 1677, enjoying the curve of Cape Cod which resembled a jester's boot, all that was missing was a bell, when I heard Miss Bingley engage Miss Elizabeth to take a turn about the room. Oh, what a sight to look up and see her!

The firelight cast a soft glow upon Miss Elizabeth's form, revealing curves in her hips, bosom and cheek. While Miss Bingley had an elegant short stride, undoubtedly taught to her, Miss Elizabeth's seemed the product of many vigorous walks. She seemed to be proceeding at a slower pace than typical as restrained as she was by her arm being linked with Miss Bingley's.

I could only imagine myself in Miss Bingley's place, but rather than having our arms linked, she would be grasping mine and we would walk as one. Though she was small in stature, I believed Miss Elizabeth more than capable of keeping up with my stride.

What were the undulating two dimensional rivers of the map which that evening had been before me, when compared with this living woman's form? In remembering, I longed to trace her topography—the mountains, valleys and rivers—with my fingers, my lips. I wanted to understand what was hidden, what the map maker left off the page.

While I was still half lost in this reverie of recalling Miss Elizabeth's stay at Netherfield, Miss Bingley decided to make idle conversation. She asked me, "Tell me, Darcy, do you hire staff for Pemberley solely from the surrounding community or do you ever find them farther afield?"

I forced my eyes in her general direction and absently answered, "Most of our staff is derived from those who have served our family for generations."

"What a pity," she replied.

"If you will excuse me," I said, standing abruptly and not waiting for an answer.

I escaped, walking out of the parlor. I let my feet carry me out to the park before Miss Bingley could invite herself along.

As I walked, I consoled myself with the thought that Miss Elizabeth's feet had also walked these same paths. I felt the echo of her presence ahead, as etched in my memory when I had been hemmed in by escorting Bingley's sisters and Miss Elizabeth ran off while laughing gaily. I imagined her just out of sight, having turned in front of me.

As I reached the end of the park and turned to return, I spotted a flash of color that was out of place. It reminded me of a colias croceus, a clouded yellow butterfly, fluttering its wings, but the season for them was past. Intrigued, I investigated.

I found a piece of yellow ribbon snagged on a rosebush thorn. It was from her dress.

I carefully freed the ribbon. A fragment of thread remained on one side. The ribbon must have come partially loose before being caught and ripping free. I straightened it and smoothed it as best as I could before I tightly wrapped it up and placed it in my pocket.

I spent most of the rest of the day in my chambers, wrapping and unwrapping that strand of yellow ribbon around my finger. I went to sleep holding it grasped in my hand.

The next morning when I awoke my hand was empty. I frantically searched my bedding for Miss Elizabeth's ribbon, but then found it on the floor next to the bed. I carefully wiped a bit of dust from it and then held it for a while.

When my valet knocked, I quickly placed her ribbon in a drawer. I tried to set aside my feelings for Miss Elizabeth just as I had set aside her ribbon.

It did not work. I felt, though I knew it made no real sense, that finding her ribbon was a sign, in a language intended just for me.


	3. Worms and Snakes

For as long as I can remember, I have always been fascinated by string, rope, thread, wool or anything that I can unwind. I have a predilection for all things long and thin, but especially those that I can hold in my hands and manipulate. Perhaps Nurse Storey first noticed?

I remember that in the nursery there was one cupboard entirely filled with every variety of long, thin things that could be unwound. Nothing delighted me more than unwinding. Sometimes it was the mere action of making a pile and watching what had been a compact and organized substance become a hill of twists and turns. Sometimes it was seeing how long it could reach, with me laying out long lines of the stuff. Sometimes it was me winding it around Nurse Storey's outstretched hands. Sometimes it was throwing a bundle and seeing what it could catch on.

My mother used to save me embroidery thread, wool and long ribbons, but I was especially excited when she brought me a long piece of rope.

When I was young, I had no hesitation in playing with my worms and snakes as I called them. I had not a care as to who saw me with them, but now I know this is yet another example of my oddity. Certainly, string and such are useful, but no other person would ever consider them playthings.

Governess Hayes screeched when she entered the nursery for the first time and found my collection all over the floor. The sound was deafening and hurt my ears (I have since learned my ears are unusually sensitive). I jumped up and hid behind Nurse Storey, not even daring to peer around her skirts.

Nurse Storey tried to quiet her, speaking to her in the even tone she used with me when I was most upset, but Governess Hayes would not be quiet. They exchanged many words, Nurse Storey's soft and Governess Hayes's harsh and jabbing.

In the end, Nurse Storey turned to me, bent down and gave me a hug. I stayed nestled into her even after she released me. She said in her most soothing voice, "Goodbye Master Darcy. I am sorry I cannot stay. Do your best. Remember, you are a fine gentleman." Then, in a very quiet whisper she murmured, "I love you."

I knew about goodbyes. She had bid me goodbye many times; Mother had, too. I knew, though, somehow that this goodbye was different. I tried to follow her out of the nursery, holding onto her skirt with one hand.

Governess Hayes grabbed at me, pulled me away and then slammed the door. I screamed and cried but Nurse Storey did not come back.

Governess Hayes released me, and I continued to cry by the door. Eventually I calmed enough to notice what was going on around me. I saw Governess Hayes and the nursery maid gathering up my worms and snakes and dumping them into the waste can. I ran to the can, crying and trying to use words to stop them, but they ignored me until I tried to pull my worms and snakes out.

I had only succeeded in pulling out a double handful when I heard a whistle-crack and felt blooming pain across my hands as Governess Hayes slapped at them with my biggest snake. I remember screaming as she pulled ribbons and strings from my hands, hands which could not hold tight enough. When my hands were empty, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me away. Her grasp was so tight that it was hard to breathe and though I tried, I could not really kick at her.

Cutting through the sounds of my distress were her demanding words, ordering the nursery maid to continue. Through my tears I saw that the maid continued to gather up my worms and snakes and push them down in the can so more would fit. Finally, when the nursery floor was bare and the maid had taken the can away, Governess Hayes released me. I remember rocking and crying until there was nothing but myself in a dark place within me.

Perhaps I would have stayed in that dark place if it were not for my mother. That evening she came at the usual time and sent Governess Hayes away while she visited. I plopped myself in her lap, still rocking.

She stroked my back, trying to soothe me. My rocking did not still. She talked to me for a few minutes in words that I did not really understand, except for recognizing the names Nurse Storey, Papa, and Governess Hayes. Then she used easier words and told me, "Nurse Storey all gone." She held up empty hands in front of me. "Papa want Governess Hayes." Then she must have noticed that my hands were empty (normally when I was upset I would be running my hands over a worm or snake to help soothe myself).

She asked, "Want worm?"

I told her, "Want worms, want snakes." I chanted this over and over while she looked, hoping she would find one, even the large one that had been used to hurt me.

She searched the nursery, checked every cupboard, basket and shelf. Finally, she came back to me, shook her head side to side and said, "No worms, no snakes." She sat back down, and I scrambled onto her lap again. She stroked my back for a while and I said, "Mama, Mama, Mama" over and over again. Then I felt her hands withdraw from me and looked up to see her hands behind her head. I watched as she unpinned her hair, long wavy blond strands. She told me, "Mama's hair is worms and snakes." She separated out a large chunk and held it out to me. That night I wound and unwound that strand around my fingers until I was very sleepy. It seemed like both a very long time and a very short time. I remember still holding onto the strand until I fell asleep.

Each night that week that Mama visited me, she unpinned her hair for me. Sometimes her elaborate hair styles included braids, which gave me a different texture to touch. She also brought me ribbons and string. She would give me a new one each night and I would furtively play with it by the light of the moon after she left, but each morning when I awoke, it was gone. I would search and search and not find it.

Later I learned that a nursery maid collected them early each morning as I slept. It was necessary, I suppose, to keep me from suffering Governess Hayes's wrath.

My mother also smuggled me yarn through the stockings she knit for me. They were thick and soft, much superior to most stockings. Each had a long end of wool which was not sewn back into the stocking, but only tucked inside. Governess Hayes could not take my stockings away, but she yelled at me when she saw me playing with the ends, still even knowing they were there, tucked against my legs, was a help to me.

I only realized later that knitting, especially stockings, was a peculiar thing for Mother to do as only poor generally knit. The trade in utilitarian objects, like stockings, is an important source of income for many. However, Mother often failed to conform to what was expected of her.


	4. Missed Opportunities

I had many occasions in the interim to regret not dancing with Miss Elizabeth at the assembly and having to wait until the Netherfield Ball to have another opportunity. There was that time at Sir William Lucas's party, when he talked on and on about dancing, but then called out to Miss Elizabeth and addressing me said, "Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you." Then he caught up her hand.

At that moment, it seemed inevitable that Miss Bennet's small hand would be placed in my much larger one and I would lead her in a dance. Her blue skirts would swish back and forth, and perhaps even brush against my stockings and over my shoes. Indeed, I was already stretching forth my gloved fingers to receive her hand, when she pulled away as if burned. My gaze was drawn to her face, her eyes, deep pools which seemed darker than the night sky when illuminated only by candlelight.

I heard her say words of refusal, but still I thought she was only waiting for a proper request and thus asked the formal sentence that had been drilled into me from the first when being taught to dance, only needing to fill in her name: "Miss Elizabeth, will you do me the great honor of dancing with me?"

Miss Elizabeth shook her head and as she did so, one dark little curl came loose and bobbed at her temple. She ignored Sir William's entreaties which I barely heard. I was instead focused on watching that curl move. When she turned away, the slight light caught a bit of each shiny curl that was pinned just so. It was only then that I realized I had been soundly refused. Perhaps was only fair turn-about as I was almost certain that Miss Elizabeth heard me when I rejected dancing with her at the assembly.

I withdrew to the edge of the room to think. I wondered how many hairs on Miss Elizabeth's head made up each curl, how long it would take to count them all and how they would feel to my fingers. When I was younger, I used to think God must be like me. How else would he be able to count all the hairs on a man's head (or even care to know the answer)? What other person would want to keep track of every sparrow? I thought then that he must keep endless lists as I used to do in those days. Now I know he knows everything, so it must be no effort at all, must not require any specific focus.

Then there was that time at Netherfield, when Miss Bingley was playing a lively Scottish air and I sought Miss Elizabeth out specifically for the purpose of dancing with her. I drew close to her and asked, while not looking directly at her, but rather toward the instrument, "Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

I suppose I should have formally requested a dance again as I had at the Lucases' party, but I did not want to explicitly ask and be rejected again. When she made no reply, I half wondered if she had not heard me. The silence grew and grew.

It seemed to be one of the few opportunities it would, in truth, be appropriate to repeat myself. My mind can get caught up in a loop sometimes in which it wishes to retrace the same thing over and over, which results in me wishing to repeat myself over and over again. It can be like an echo sometimes.

Ever repeating myself was something Governess Hayes did her best to beat out of me, with only partial success. My tutor, Mr. Stowbaugh, was not nearly so harsh, but he had mightily discouraged me, explaining that it was disquieting to others. I understood the wisdom in what he said, but it is hard that I am always the one that needs to change myself for other people rather than it ever being the other way around. I now generally keep such repetitions unvoiced except when I am alone. Then I say things as many times as I want.

I felt the need to look at Miss Elizabeth directly when asking once more "Do you not feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?"

I was caught up in staring in her eyes. By the current light they were the color of hot chocolate. I pulled my eyes to the side, midway between herself and the piano forte so as to attend better to her words and not be distracted by what her nearness could do to me.

She was saying, with a delightful lilt to her voice, "You wanted me, I know, to say 'Yes' that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste," she paused and I could not help but look back at her again, I was as a moth to a flame, "but I always delight in overthrowing those kinds of schemes and cheating a person out of their premeditated contempt. I have therefore made up my mind to tell you that I do not want to dance a reel at all—and now despise me if you dare."

I felt a burgeoning feeling in my breast, and it was most certainly not a negative emotion. I could not help but respond, "Indeed I do not dare."

I thought in that moment of all the things I did not dare to do regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I did not dare touch her hair, though my fingers itched to do so it would be most improper and unseemly. I did not dare to ask her directly to dance with me knowing that I faced refusal. I did not dare to let myself feel my growing regard for her. I did not dare to imagine seeking a closer association with her, for then she would inevitably know what I try so hard to keep concealed.

I dared not imagine what it might be like to pledge myself to her and have her beside me always; my duty was to marry as well as my father had. I reminded myself of the inferiority of her connections, a mother from trade, ridiculous younger sisters who flirted and carried on. With those things in mind I could try to keep myself from the danger of desiring her for my wife.

Still, I could not help but imagine seeing Miss Elizabeth's tiny hands posed to remove her hair from its current arrangement pin by pin as my mother had. But there my imagination stopped as I was not sure what her hair would be like. Would it fall to halfway down her back or even as far as her waist in thick waves, curling mostly at the ends, or would her hair only reach her shoulders as compressed into curls? No man save for her husband would ever see her hair down and learn the answer to this question.

I wanted it to be my eyes seeing her hair coming down, lock by lock. I wanted it to be my hand sliding along her neck as I moved her newly released strands from her shoulder to her back. If she had thick curls, I wanted it to be me grasping one of her curls, stretching it down, releasing it and seeing it spring back up. I wanted it to be me feeling the sensation of coiling a ribbon-like curl around my finger or sliding my hands down its waves.

But before any such intimacy could take place, we would need to be married. Though I could not marry her, I could imagine saying those words which were like to how I was taught to ask for a dance, "Miss Bennet, will you do me the great honor of marrying me?"


	5. Wrong Footed

Given all the regret I had in not getting to dance with her on those previous two occasions, it seems ridiculous to even me that I did not dance with Miss Elizabeth at the assembly. But I knew precisely why I had not.

When we first arrived at the assembly, I immediately realized that I had made a grave error in consenting to attend. I had been too complacent in trying to please my hosts.

Miss Bingley made clear her expectation that I would partner both her and her sister, telling me, "It is grand that at least there shall be Mr. Hurst but most especially you, Darcy, with whom to dance; I suppose I can take a turn with my brother also . . . ." Her lips turned down.

"I should prefer resting," I told her, "over dancing. We just came down from London after all, and I am still tired from the journey." Really, though, it was not so much that I was tired as that I needed to regain my equilibrium, settle myself in a new place.

Bingley intervened then, encouraging me to attend, also. "Darcy, how would it look if my guest chose to absent himself from mixing with the neighborhood? Even so, though, I will not insist on your attendance."

Bingley so seldom asks anything from me. What could I do but go?

Everything at the assembly was much too overwhelming to my senses especially after the ride and suddenly residing somewhere new. I saw a riot of color and texture swirling before me from the dancing couples, movement hemming me in from every side as others strode around idly, seeking conversation, many shadows falling across the floor from the candelabras. I heard the cacophony of music mixed with men's hard soled shoes, loud voices struggling to be heard over the music, annoying and unpredictable laughter, the swish of women's skirts. I smelled the odor of sweating bodies, perfume meant to mask such odors, and a bit of spilled spirits. I felt hemmed in, surrounded, the room closing in on me. And all this occurred upon our first arrival even when I stayed near the other members of our party.

After having done my duty by dancing once each with Bingley's sisters, I retreated to the edge of the room, a place of relative safety. In taking a seat there, I hoped to be left unmolested from further interactions until I felt more at ease (assuming that might eventually happen).

From this position I saw women take their seats when no partner was to be had. From these self-same seats, I also saw such women who were earlier spurned be sought out as partners. I particularly noticed one young woman as she walked rather near me and took a seat on a sofa a few feet to one side of me (I had selected an armchair that was set a bit more away from the next closest seat for the sole purpose of avoiding conversation with any potential seat neighbors and then scooted it back the two feet three inches it required to be resting against the wall).

The woman who caught my eye had dark hair and eyes and was rather small but well-proportioned in her womanly attributes, though her face lacked perfect symmetry, her nose curving ever so slightly to one side. I noticed she seemed to walk confidently, with a stride that was longer than expected from someone of her size and caused the toes of her slippers to emerge from beneath the skirt of her cream-colored dress. It was not the mincing walk that Miss Bingley and indeed many society women seem to have adopted, in which a woman is meant to appear to float (Georgiana explained its purpose to me) by taking tinier quick steps so that her feet will never be revealed, an affectation that I find troubling. The woman smiled at something as she sat down, prompting a quick wish to flash through my mind, oh how glorious it would be if she were smiling at me!

However, any wish I might have had to look at her longer (unobserved hopefully from my position nearer to the wall), was interrupted by a doddering lady who made her way over to me and took the seat nearest to me, turning her body as much as she could so she could face me. While I tried to pretend that I had not observed her, she insisted on intruding on my peace by shouting at me, "Young man, you must be Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. I am Mrs. Long. Perhaps you have been introduced to my two nieces, the Miss Gouldings?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Oh no matter, I shall be happy to introduce you myself. They are charming ladies, both single and oh so accomplished. My own Jane is lately married. By and by I shall certainly call them over for you to meet, but they are dancing just now. How are you liking our little ball and staying at Netherfield?"

My tutor firmly drilled into me that I need to answer questions, that it is the height of rudeness to ignore people when they address you, but I admit to a sudden surging annoyance, perhaps even anger, that she would speak to me without us ever having been introduced, force unwanted conversation on me and seek to make me make additional acquaintances. I wished to say something rude that would silence her but knew I could not. I let my response do double duty by saying, "It is fine."

She kept trying to extend our exchange with a series of questions which I did my best to answer each time with only one or two words to discourage any further exchange. I was just on the verge of getting up, walking about, and then finding another seat, when finally, mercifully, she fell silent.

I was beginning to feel a bit better when Bingley left the dance (it was between two songs of a set and there was a brief pause) and sought me out as I knew at some point he would. He summoned me from the edge of the dance floor with a beckoning hand, so I got up and each of us closed the distance. As we did so, I knew I was now standing quite close to the brunette I had noticed earlier. Not far from Bingley was a lovely willowy blonde woman. It was Miss Bennet (whose name at the time I did not know) waiting for him to return.

He entreated me, "Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much rather dance." I knew that Bingley meant well but he had obviously misspoken; I had been sitting about by myself and not standing about until he summoned me, and I certainly did not think it was stupid to do so, it was self-preservation. Bingley always encourages me to be more social, but seldom calls me out about it in front of other people and I will admit I was annoyed about it, more annoyed than I would have been had that Mrs. Long just left me alone.

I cannot imagine him to have been surprised by my rejection, though perhaps he was surprised by the way I gave it. I told Bingley, "I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

My reasons sounded sensible enough to my ear and it seemed to me that I had signaled my distress in an appropriate manner (in such a setting I could hardly speak to him about what was truly bothering me without appearing odd indeed). But Bingley was not dissuaded, probably because he knows that it is not unusual for me to oppose any scheme until I have thought it over for a time.

He declared, "I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening, and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

" _You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," I told him, glancing at the woman waiting for him. It was another excuse to be sure, though Bingley can always be counted upon to locate the most beautiful blonde at any event.

"Oh! she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you," he gestured, "who is very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

"Which do you mean?" I turned, though I already knew; naturally it would be the woman I had earlier been admiring.

Bingley's choice of a potential partner for me was not accidental. Bingley knows I favor brunettes, especially if they are clever. While he likely had only exchanged niceties with this woman of unknown name, she looked intelligent (no vapid express on her face).

Perhaps I should favor more simple women, for clever women are more dangerous. Trying to correctly follow brilliant repartee can be risky with all its layered meaning. But still, I like what I like and there is no changing it.

When I caught Miss Elizabeth's eye (though naturally enough I did not know her name then either), I felt almost stung. There is sometimes an intensity in exchanging a gaze which almost seems to burn me. I knew then that I could never risk dancing with her and being forced to engage in all the niceties a dance requires, most especially idle conversation. If I could have just danced with her in silence, I might have heeded Bingley's request.

I determined I needed to dissuade him for once and for all, for he was pushing me too hard and I had no tolerance for it at that moment. I happened upon the excuse that was the most obvious, though least polite one and declared in my most icy tone, "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

Even as I said those first words, I knew there was nothing much the matter with her appearance. No one could have been handsome enough to tempt me in that moment. To my dismay, I heard myself speak far too loudly, but when I am most uncomfortable, I tend to have the least control over the volume of my voice. I was embarrassed and angry at myself and angry at Bingley for putting me in this position, but how could he truly understand?

Bingley never knows a stranger and always seems to know how to speak with anyone in a manner guaranteed to set them at ease. Me, I need to rehearse what I will say, have some certainty in what the exchange will demand of me.

With speaking comes risk. I would have been placed at a decided disadvantage in suddenly facing the prospect of having to talk to Miss Elizabeth when she was yet a stranger, with no way to determine what the topic might be in advance.

I did not want her to see me as awkward, stiff and bumbling, or far worse, odd, defective, diseased, simple-minded. I prefer to be judged as proud and unsociable. It is my duty to protect my family name and reputation, after all.


	6. The Suckling Room

I have improved in my ability to be sociable, but I am very cautious about spending any time with people I do not know. Especially when I attended Cambridge, the status, wealth and connections my family had, made others who likely would otherwise have no interest in befriending me, try to include me at first. Indeed, with hindsight and improved understanding, I suspect my father or the Earl (my uncle, brother to my mother) may have even gone so far as to have sons of the men they knew seek me out.

When I began school at Eton, it was confusing. I was accomplished at some things and very deficient at others. I quickly mastered the schedule and routine. When it came to memorization and reciting, I always excelled. When it came to synthesis, explaining how many things came together and creatively interpreting them, I lagged far behind.

But I was most deficient when it came to mastering how to relate to the other boys. My fellow school mates quickly learned that if they smiled when they talked to me that I would believe them to be sincere. At that time, I did not assign any meaning to waggling eyebrows, eye rolls, random snickers and the like. I trusted many times and I was punished for it.

A common prank was for my door key to be stolen from my person and hidden. This happened several times with the key mysteriously appearing in the most unlikely spot (sticking out from a pudding, in the bottom of a chamber pot filled with piss, suspended on a string above a teacher's head). Each time my key disappeared other boys would volunteer to help me search. I thought they were being kind, but it turned out my desperation was a source of amusement to them. They found it funny when I rocked and repeated myself. These were things that I did without conscious volition to calm myself. While a missing key might not be more than an annoyance to other boys (after all, the master of the house had a copy of all the keys and my key would eventually be found), I depended upon order in my life and anything that through that off caused me much anxiety.

It was only after several such incidents that I discovered that Chant, a short boy with black hair and deep brown eyes and one of the boys who was always quickest to come to my aid and occupied the room next door to me, was the very boy who had it stolen my key from me. I only found this out when another boy whispered to me, "Chant took your key."

The next morning, I felt myself most clever when I left my key out having dabbed the edges with ink and after my key predictably disappeared found his thumb and forefinger well stained.

"Give me my key, Chant!" I demanded, explaining, "I caught you black-handed." By this I meant that I had proof of his misdeed which was his black ink-stained hand. I had heard the term red-handed, and my tutor explained the term came from poachers being caught with blood on their hands.

Chant laughed at me. "Darcy does not know anything. Dolt, the term is red-handed!" But he did give me my key back. Forevermore he called me "Mr. Black-Handed" to his friends that always snickered. But he did not take my key after that. In reflecting back on this, I think I earned his respect.

Matters became much worse when I attended university and we were not so strictly regulated. What had been small pranks at school became larger and more troubling schemes. On the worst occasion, when I was engaged to meet some chums at a club for dinner (I had previously supped with them but in the end, I realized they used that previous supper to trick me), I faced my greatest humiliation thus far. I dislike going to places that I have never been before as it is difficult to know what to expect, but I had worked up my courage to go meet Balfour and the others at a club of which he and some of the others were members. We were to be guests for a private dinner and might choose to join the club later. Balfour had said something about an initiation, but I had not paid it much mind as I had no intention of joining.

I took a hackney to the location. As I paid the fare before getting out, the driver told me, "Have a fine time; I wish I had the funds for such indulgences."

At first, I did not know what the place was, in my inexperience I was focusing all my attention on inquiring after the private room they had told me we would be entertaining in. In those days making a simple request of a stranger was terrifying and required that I rehearse the conversation in my head many times and plan on the best way to phrase the request, yet, still, sometimes the words were slow to form when I actually needed them.

I asked, as I had been told, "The Suckling Room, please." The proprietress cackled and informed me, "Sally is available and will take you there." An old woman, dressed in a far too revealing dress, escorted me to a room upstairs.

When she opened the door, I saw that oddly enough instead of a table with my friends, the room was furnished with a bed. I paused uncertain on the threshold. "Come on, dearie," Sally said, somewhat indistinctly, "No need to be shy, I am about to show you all the pleasures a young man can have." She opened her mouth widely in a large "O" and I noted that she had no teeth.

She reached out toward the fall of my breeches with her hand. Before she could touch me, I flinched and then fled as quickly as my feet could carry me, hopelessly confused. Had I somehow misunderstood the address?

As I considered the matter further in the safety of my room, I eventually concluded that the club that I thought I was meeting my chums was a brothel; undoubtedly, they had meant for me to go there. It had all been a joke that they pretended to be my friends. I felt so very stupid then.

The next day at university, I happened upon Balfour and some of the others shortly before my first class. He said in a falsetto, hands clasped as if in prayer, batting his eyelashes, "Oh, Mr. Darcy, do not be afraid, I shall make you a man!" Then they all laughed.

Later, before another class was to begin, I overheard as they discussed the wagers they made about whether I would enter the establishment and how far I would go if I did. Seton said, "Why was I ever foolish enough to take odds that he would allow that grandmother to use her talent on him?" I found the whole matter terribly embarrassing, but said nothing.

That evening I saw George Wickham as I was approaching my room. He smiled and told me, "Well done Bitsy."

That was his nickname for me, which I found abhorrent. When he began taking lessons with me when we were both boys, he had called me "Fitz" as my mother and cousins did. This was still the name he called me in front of my family and the professors but quickly, when there was sport to be had of me, this became "Fitzy" and then finally "Bitsy."

"You made me rich! I knew just what you would do, unlike the rest of that lot. What good fun it was for all of us to spy on you from the adjoining room. The other fellows mostly thought you would figure it out and leave before going to the bedroom and wanted to watch from the balcony, but I knew that would spoil the joke as you would have seen them once you got up the stairs. Luckily, they listened to me and got to see Sally offering you her wares through a crack in the adjoining door. What a good joke it all was and so profitable, too! It is too bad, though, for your sake that you did not allow Sally to show you the pleasures to be had at her mouth."

I felt disgusted and sick to my stomach. I had not realized that they had all seen my humiliation. After that, I began seeing George hanging around with Balfour. Perhaps they had always been friends and I had simply not noticed before.

I learned from this that I could not trust anyone. George had not even been at the initial dinner, yet he had pulled the strings that led to my humiliation. Therefore, I rebuffed all attempts other students made to socialize with me with vigor, while doing my best to use the acceptable language of refusal.

When I was asked to play cards or share spirits, I told them, "I cannot; my father would not approve." This was only a half-truth. He did not approve of gambling or intoxication but would not have begrudged me a friendly game or a little swig, not if it meant I would begin to resemble the son he wanted.

When I was asked to go to the bookstore, I replied, "I have lately been there and have no need to go now." Lately could have been a number of days and I might indeed have desired to go, but simply not with the present company.

When I was asked to share a meal, if it was immediately I always answered, "I do not feel like eating," or "I am not hungry yet"; if it was for a later occasion I always responded, "I regret to tell you, I have already made other arrangements," or "Unfortunately I have another preexisting engagement." No one needed to know that my only regret was having to offer an excuse and that being alone was my preexisting engagement.

Undoubtedly, I should have made another polite excuse as to why I could not dance. However, Bingley always sees right through me, ever since I first let him into my life. He knows I am not really so proud but scared of making a mistake.


	7. My Friend Bingley

Bingley began attending Cambridge my last year, a few months before my father died. I was vaguely aware of his presence. It was hard to miss someone who seems jovial most of the time and has blond hair so light as to be almost white, though I do not know that we had ever exchanged words, but for a quick apology he gave me when he almost collided with me after turning a corner.

So, it was a bit odd when he approached me one day as I was leaving a class. "Excuse me," I kept walking. "Wait!" he was now jogging by my side to keep up with me. Still, I did not think he was addressing me, or pretended that he was not. I kept my eyes firmly fixed forward until he said, "Mr. Darcy, wait!"

I stopped and looked at him, perplexed as to what he could want with me. I had made it clear enough that I did not want friends, and no one asked me to do anything with them anymore.

"What?" My word was precise and did not encourage any unnecessary discourse. I let my eyes drift away from him and to the wall above him, only half seeing him.

"Mr. Darcy, Professor Hanson said I should come talk to you." I waited and that must have been encouragement enough as he added, "I am having trouble with history and he told me that you could help me."

I had excelled in the class when I had taken it earlier, but no other gentleman had ever approached me for assistance before. I wondered if it was a ploy, another trick, but became convinced when he showed me his paper, blotted and incomprehensible, along with a note from Professor Hanson.

We made arrangements to meet later. I decided we would meet in my room, as I would feel better being there, but then as I waited for him, I wondered if this was the best location. I had selected it so that if this was a trick I could avoid being pranked, but I also was not sure I wanted to let someone into the place where I felt most safe.

Bingley arrived promptly and I helped him with his work. When we finished, he did not rush off as I expected, hoped.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair and said, "Finally we are done and can have a bit of fun." Then he sat back up and asked me, "Now, how is it that I never see you out with the other fellows?"

At first, I was very guarded. I shrugged and said nothing.

But he persisted, "Tell me, just who are you, Darcy," (at some point he had dropped the "Mr." and started just addressing me by my surname as most men at university do, though up until this point most everyone still called me Mr. Darcy, except George who still insisted on calling me that retched nickname) "and what do you like doing?"

"I enjoy my studies." I stared at the wall as I answered.

"Come now, there must be something else you like doing. What is it?"

Again, I shrugged. Why would he just not leave? My eyes drifted over to him. Now he was sitting forward, his arms on the table, his dark pupils fixed on me. I noticed then that his irises were a pale blue, and his left sideburn was a bit longer than his right. He kept waiting.

Realizing perhaps that I had no intention of saying anything more, he asked additional questions. I continued to give him as little as possible. Seeing my discomfort, I suppose, he began to talk about himself.

"My family hales from Scarborough originally and I still have cousins there. It is well known that Father made his money in trade, though he is divested now. Many of our fellow students do not think I belong at Cambridge; I am constantly dismissed for being who I am and where I came from. Perhaps I should have told you about this before you helped me today, but I really needed the help. If this is a problem for you, though, I will leave now and not ask for your help again."

I almost told him to go then, not because he was not a gentleman, but because I simply wanted him gone, would have wanted anyone gone. My silence must have been encouragement enough, though, for him to continue to talk.

He told me, "My father built carriages; my uncle still designs and repairs clocks. My father's back was bent from an accident he had when a small child working at a job meant for someone larger. Perhaps it was in fact a blessing, an opportunity, as when he healed as much as he was able, he found that his brains were more important than his brawn."

We talked long into the evening, or Bingley, rather, mostly talked and I listened. I found myself to be interested, despite myself, although the only questions I think I asked were about how carriages were put together, but he could not really answer those well because as he explained his father had kept him away from the family business as much as possible.

I learned his entire family history starting with his grandparents. Bingley's grandfather began his career repairing carriages but quickly concluded he could design them better than they were. He had been saving to open his own shop when his son was injured. Then he had even more motivation to build something which would provide income for his son. He trained his son to understand every aspect of the business and improve it where he could.

Bingley's father rose to direct most of the work, solving the problems others could not. Bingley wanted to join his father in that line, but Bingley senior chose instead to leave the trade as he wanted his son to have more respect than he did and eventually sold the business to his uncle.

He told me, "I know Father did this for me and my sisters, to advance us in this world, but I was still proud to be my father's son while he was yet in trade."

When he left that evening, Bingley told me, "You are a good listener. I have enjoyed our time together."

I only nodded and bid him, "Good night."

Bingley surprised me by arriving on my doorstep two days later. I invited him in, setting aside but not closing a book of maps showing what was known of the dark continent that I was studying (not for a class but for my own amusement) and asking, "What composition do you need help on now?"

He strode right in and waited for me to shut the door before telling me, "I have no work right now. I thought we could talk some more." He paused and added, "I hope I am not disturbing you."

Bingley's visit was unprecedented, and I did not know how to react. I closed the book and then seated myself on my sofa; he took the other end. He said, "I have been thinking about you and wondering, just who is Fitzwilliam Darcy. I must admit I made a few inquiries and while people know of you, who your father is and all that," he waved his hand through the air with a quick flick of his wrist, "no one seems to really know you, except George Wickham, but I cannot match anything he said with the person I met. I really would like to know, who are you? Not who your family is, or what you do at Cambridge, but you yourself, the man."

I was completely unprepared for that question. I told him, "I do not know at all . . . ."

He waited, and then something in me must have recognized that I could trust him given how much he had shared with me previously as without conscious volition, I voiced the following words: "I think something is wrong with me."

He listened as I told him of my trials and how I could not fit in with my cousins or the students at Eton or Cambridge. He kept listening even when I spoke louder and more disjointedly, when I shook when remembering past hurts. I did not tell him all that much that night, but it was enough.

I think this is the occasion when we became more than acquaintances, but instead true friends. I had never had his like, though I knew my mother and sister loved me, they did not choose me (or rather they were stuck with me, though they chose to love me also which was not a requirement I suppose of who I was to them, as I was not sure whether Father had ever truly loved me). While I felt connected to my cousin Edwin, the Earl's son, Edwin also had a family obligation to me. Nurse Storey and Mr. Stowbaugh cared for me, I am certain, but they were paid to do so.

Perhaps others in seeing our closeness would have felt that Bingley was getting something from my status, my family connections, but other than my tutoring, it was I who benefitted, it was he who helped me. He had suggestions for things I could do to ingratiate myself with his set of friends (which was made easier by my seniority and place in life) and encouraged me to engage in activities. He did not try to make me into someone I was not. I began to be invited to proper social outings because he was my friend and I went to some because he smoothed my way, explained me to other people, defended me when needed. He enjoyed more society than I wanted but was also content to come visit me and simply sit in companionable silence with me if that is what I wanted while I stared at my maps.

After months together, Bingley told me I reminded him of his uncle James. "He is not a sociable fellow, but he knows more about clocks than anyone else you could ever meet. No one taught him anything about them, he taught himself. He will not say more than two words about any other subject. There is something in the way you look at most people, not quite in the eyes, that is like him, though he stares more at one's chin. But when you talk about maps or he talks about clocks you are both fully engaged and joyful. I wish I could feel that way about something."

Then he asked me something that no one had ever asked me before: "Why do you like maps so much?" I knew the answer, but it was difficult to explain in words. He let me think and did not rush me.

I considered giving him the full answer, explaining that the lines on the maps were like my worms to me, that I felt safe in being able to trace and master the physical world in such a way, but as I had never told him about my worms and snakes, this would lead to more questions and I feared what he would think of me if he knew. Whereas when I was younger, I had no embarrassment for my fondness of such things, now I knew all too well how unacceptable someone else was likely to find this particular predilection of mine. Instead, I settled for giving Bingley a partial answer, explaining only how my preference for the lines in maps had gradually transformed into a peculiar talent.

I told him "I am not like other people. I think they just see lines. I can feel myself being in the map, experiencing the meanderings of the roads depicted as if I am on them and can remember where to go. When I travel somewhere new by horseback (or on foot) it forms a map in my mind; it builds on whatever map is already there. I never get lost. I remember every twist and turn. The older maps may be wrong, but they are a way of experiencing what others thought about their world. I can layer many maps in my mind to increase the complexity perhaps beyond what another could comprehend. I adjust the flawed maps others create to true maps when I travel and see things for myself. I believe I could make truer maps than we have even now."

"How marvelous!" Bingley told me. "What a wonderful ability and talent!" He smiled and nodded.

I was amazed and pleased that Bingley accepted what I told him, although a little voice in my head also pointed out that he would not have been nearly as accepting if he knew about the string in my pocket, or how much I had played with my worms and snakes as a child, or how much I still desired to do so now.

I also felt an unnamed, good emotion. Later, when I reflected on it, I thought it might be pride, or a sense of self-worth. I liked the feeling even if it was somewhat tainted by the idea that I had not been fully honest with him.

From that time forward, whenever we went someplace (whether I had been there before or not), Bingley let me take the lead. I could tell he had confidence in me. In this one thing at least, who I was, was not something to be ashamed of.

Because Bingley could trust in me, I trusted him with more than I had ever trusted any save for perhaps my mother. But there are things that a man cannot share with his mother, things that he keeps deep inside himself.

This did not mean that suddenly I shared everything with him; I never did tell him about my worms and snakes. But it did mean that later, I shared with him about Miss Wilde.


	8. My First Love

As Bingley and I began to grow closer, our association at Cambridge had become a regular part of my life. I do not know if he noticed that I inevitably talked to him most Tuesday afternoons after we both had our last class and like clockwork, invited him to study with me in my quarters afterwards. I typically was waiting for his last class to end, to catch him leaving, to exchange the requisite three sentences before inviting him hither, though of course given Bingley's volubility it might be far more than that. Scheduling him into my life in such a regular manner was comforting to me though he did not always have work that could benefit from my help. I often practiced to myself what I might say to him that would be different yet close enough to what I had said before that I might have an idea of how he would react.

It was on a Tuesday, then, when we interrupted my bedmaker from her tasks, returning to my quarters earlier than was typical as Bingley's last class had ended early on that day. When Mrs. Webb saw me she blushed a little, bobbed a curtsey, "Mr. Darcy, Mr. . . ," she noticed Mr. Bingley and he helpfully supplied his name, "Mr. Bingley, I am almost finished. Five minutes at the most and then I have just the water to fetch."

"Very good," I told her and tried to ignore her after that as Bingley and I sat at a small table and talked (that was part of what we always did, talking for fifteen or twenty minutes before we studied, or rather typically before I helped Bingley). Of course, we could not talk of anything important and it was hard to ignore Mrs. Webb as she finished scrubbing the floors. Those sounds were loud to my ears.

I knew she was supposed to serve me, had been hired for such a task and I was to take her for granted and not see her unless one of us addressed the other, and yet it was hard to ignore what was occurring in my room (I never was good at ignoring things, it was one of the reasons that I needed to be far away from other people a goodly amount of the time, it took me many years to learn that this was one of the ways I was so different than other men, I have not whatever they have which should allow me to focus solely on what I am meant to notice).

When she was finally finished and had left for good, Bingley asked, "Why are you so distracted; have you some history with her?"

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked him, knowing by now that Bingley would not laugh at my ignorance of not knowing what he meant, that I could ask such a question and get a serious answer.

"I cannot decide if she is scared of you, perhaps you yelled at her in a moment of pique (you can be most fearsome you know when in a poor mood) or if perhaps you have taken some liberties with her and she has thought the better of them now, making her uncomfortable in your presence. It is quite bad form to become involved with servants."

"Liberties? Why would you think I would do so?"

"Come now, Darcy, while I might not imagine it of you, it cannot have escaped your attention that she is comely enough. Several of our classmates have tupped their bedmakers or more commonly their bedmakers' daughters and Mrs. Webb is young yet. You cannot be entirely innocent of the knowledge of such things."

"I had not noticed," I told him. I was not sure which statement I was responding to, though that answer might do for any of the three, it was a lie for any and all.

I was not sure why I lied, except that I was uncomfortable with the turn our conversation had taken. I felt a hotness to my cheeks. I knew Mrs. Webb had many of the womenly attributes which were deemed attractive: a large bosom, a rounded bottom, honey blonde hair, though some of it was concealed beneath her mob cap.

I knew also that George Wickham had "known" Mrs. Webb; at least that is what I had concluded from my observations. His chamber door was just down the hall from my own. On one occasion I had heard a woman's throaty laugh and George's muffled tones and then later his grunts of effort (rather like he made when running hard) and a woman's moans that sounded more delighted than pained. A few minutes later when departing to wait for Bingley outside his class, I saw Mrs. Webb exiting George's room. Outwardly she looked mostly as she normally did, cleaning supplies tucked in her basket on one arm, a wooden bucket and mop in the other. However, her clothes were wrinkled and somewhat askew. As our eyes caught each other a blush suffused her face (which was already somewhat rosy).

And if these clues were not enough, I overheard George making jokes about his intimate association with Mrs. Webb, though he never mentioned her by name. He said things like: "Oh, it is most convenient to occupy my bedmaker, as once we are finished messing up my sheets, it is her job to remake them."

If I had any attraction to Mrs. Webb, undoubtedly it would have been squelched by knowing what she had done with George, however I do not remember ever having found her desirable. She was nothing to me.

Yet, still, when I saw Mrs. Webb, it made me wonder what had become of Miss Wilde. I hoped she had remained virtuous, was now married and had found happiness. But I feared that she was living a life like Mrs. Webb's instead, perhaps even now serving to gratify the desires of the older boys at Eton.

Bingley must have sensed a story, though, as he proceeded to adroitly question me. I did my best to supply little information, to turn our conversation back to our studies, to the paper I knew he needed to write. I almost sent him on his way, half resolved that after I did so I would stop inviting him hither, retreat back into not knowing him (as if it could be that simple).

Finally, he sighed, saying "I suppose if you do not want to talk about whatever it is, I should let you keep your mysteries." We then proceeded to study, which is what I had thought I wanted, but now I was distracted, and my terse answers must have showed it.

This went on for a while until he finally said "Something is not right with you. I am sorry for whatever shadow I have cast over you, it was not my intent to make you uncomfortable."

Suddenly a bit of truth burst forth from me, "But I am, I do not truly know how to relate to the gentler sex unless they are related to me. In questioning me about Mrs. Webb, I have been dwelling in a memory I wish to avoid."

He gently and deliberately laid a hand upon my shoulder in a gesture that must have been intended to be comforting. "I will leave it be."

"What if I do not want you to leave it be?"

"Well then, you might choose to talk about the matter." He looked down at the table and not at me. I knew why he was doing that; I had told him before that when I was speaking of difficult things it was easier when another person's gaze was not upon me.

"I know why Mrs. Webb is uncomfortable in my presence," I told him, "but that is not what I wish to talk about. What I have been thinking on is why I am uncomfortable in hers."

"Why are you uncomfortable in hers?" By now he had removed his hand from my shoulder after giving my shoulder two pats. That was his way, two pats, always two pats. He continued to look at the table. I looked more at his eyebrows which were just a shade darker than his white-blond hair before focusing off in the distance and forced myself to speak.

"It is not Mrs. Webb exactly, but she reminds me of the women who cleaned my quarters at Eton. Mr. Stowbaugh, I think in despairing that I hardly talked to anyone, instructed that I should say more to merchants and servants. He told me that they had to listen to me, that my position could be used to give me good practice. I took this to heart in always greeting Mrs. Wilde, trying to exchange a sentence or two with her each time I arrived back in my quarters when she was still cleaning them. She was kind to my bumbling efforts. I noticed that on most Tuesdays and Fridays (the days when she did the heavy cleaning) she brought her daughter with her and though it was even harder to make myself converse with her daughter, it was well worth the effort."

"Her daughter?"

"Yes, Miss Wilde was perhaps fourteen to my almost sixteen years. She was a clever brunette; too clever to be doing mere menial work."

I was silent for a time while I thought about Lucy Wilde, my hands sweating a little, my throat feeling dry. Bingley waited patiently until I began to speak once more. For a voluble fellow, he knows when to be silent.

"When I met Miss Wilde, she was in that awkward phase where a girl's body is becoming that of a woman, but her curves are still slight, her body still thin with recent growth, like a half-grown horse. She had chocolate hair which was always tightly restrained in two braids. I do not remember the color of her eyes, but her lips were fuller and darker than was fashionable, as was the shade of her skin; perhaps she had a bit of Moorish blood."

I could see her there before me, but with the cross look she had after, not the more pleasant expression of before, when I first met her, or the smiling expression when she appreciated me a bit, which showed her front teeth with a gap in the middle.

"I finally said more to Miss Wilde one time besides a bare greeting when in straightening my books (the shelves were close to the table at which I was working) her hand lingered on one particular volume; it was _Gulliver's Travels_. I took a chance and asked quietly, 'Have you read it?' She shook her head and made no other reply, her braids moving a bit with the movement of her head. She had long braids, down to here or so," I gestured to my waist. I omitted added that I always had the desire to, wished I could run my hands along the bumps of her braids, though of course I never acted on such desire.

"I do not know what possessed me, but I asked her, 'Should you like to read it?' I remember she glanced at her mother who was busy dusting across the room. She answered softly, shyly, 'I should like to, but I fear my mother would not like me doing so.' That was as much as we talked about the matter that day, but I thought much upon that exchange.

"On her following visit I asked why her mother would not like her to read that and she told me, 'When I am drawn into a book, it means that I am not knitting stockings to sell or cooking our dinner.'"

I paused and Bingley commented softly, "The poor must be most industrious when there is daylight and have no money to waste on unnecessary candles at night."

I nodded, but did not allow his comment to distract me, my words still freely pouring forth.

"All that week I was consumed by wondering how I could share the book with Miss Wilde as she had no leisure time for reading. The answer came to me after we had to recite Latin in class. If she could not read the book, she could hear it. The next day she came to clean with her mother, I made sure I was present as early as possible. I pulled out the book and began reading aloud from the beginning. I made sure to mark my place and read from the book only when she was present. In this way she heard all about the Lilliputians. When I had finished reading about that voyage, she chanced discussing it with me, bit by bit, when cleaning near me."

I remembered Miss Wilde making her comments, head tilted slightly as talked, both braids down her back, hands resolutely moving, reddening as she scrubbed with the hot water. She never paused in her work, while I had nothing I need do but give my attention to our discussion and looking at her.

"When I had read Swift, and I had read his novel more than once, I had enjoyed the adventure of it all, the wonder of it, but it was from her that I learned more about how it was satire. At first, I was resistant to this, but she convinced me with her cogent explanations, she who had only heard the book read and only the one time, while diligently working. She was the first female (bar my mother and sister) I can remember that seemed to want to speak with me about something I wished to discuss as well. I was looking forward to reading the other voyages to her and what she would make of them, but it was not to be."

"Why ever not, did her mother notice and think it improper?" Bingley asked, glancing up for a moment and then refocusing his eyes on the table.

"No, certainly her mother caught on to what we were doing, but I think she, too, was drawn into the story as she told me one time, 'Those Lilliputians are really something' and she laughed when hearing how Gulliver put out the fire. I do not think she minded as Miss Wilde never slacked in her cleaning."

I was silent once more as I thought about the event that was likely the impetus for the actions which caused my shame. This memory had distinctly carnal overtones for me. It was something that occurred before I had so much as even exchanged a word with Miss Wilde, some months earlier.

Miss Wilde was wearing a stained and ill-fitting frock (the dress had probably been her mother's made over for her) and it was in a deeper color more apt for a married woman than a girl, a somewhat reddish brown color. It was a bit too large, especially on the top, though it was cinched tight around her waist with a rather ugly ribbon in an unfortunate color that was neither pink nor brown. It was a warm fall day and as she worked her face was ruddy and gleaming a bit with sweat. I had watched her, likely stared, as she hurried to complete the cleaning of my room, but if she or her mother noticed my staring, they ignored it.

But the sharpest memory of that day was of just a few seconds duration. As Miss Wilde bent over in the task of helping her mother make my bed, the angle was such, when combined with her too large of dress, that it afforded me quite a view of her dugs which were small but had a pleasing swell to them. I even saw the darker flesh of them which terminated with her nipples. At the time it was a revelation to me that a woman's nipples projected out, rather than being flatter like those of a man. I remember her particular nipples were a bit dark, like her lips.

That was the image to which I had first given myself pleasure. I also used it again on many nights that followed, picturing her leaning over my bed as I lay upon it.

While the underlying memory was a delightful one, soon after reading Gulliver's first voyage to Miss Wilde, it became caught up with another that left me deeply ashamed of my conduct. From that time forth, I could not think of the first memory without the cloud of the last, had to find a new fantasy though naturally it was nothing to the first.

Bingley interrupted my musings, asking, "Why would reading aloud to a girl who helped clean your room make you uncomfortable around the woman who cleans your room now? Is it that you miss her?"

"No, that is not it at all. It is what I did later, the thing that ruined it all."

"Will you tell me of it?"

I did not say anything for a few moments, considering whether I really could trust him with such a thing. It was not anything that I had ever told another. I could have shared with Mr. Stowbaugh when he asked why I seemed not myself, or I could have talked to my cousin Edwin about it (when I had seen him next, though given how things had changed between us and certain suggestions he had given me later regarding how I could gain the experience it was expected that all gentlemen would have, I was glad that I had not). I felt I could trust Bingley, with this at least.

"Yes, I shall. I knew I could not have anything further with Miss Wilde. I knew that as much as I might be becoming fond of her, even more than fond, that we were not of the same sphere. I always knew my place in the world, my father made sure of that. I had no wish for the sort of paid associations that are possible for a man and women of such different consequence. I really did not have any improper intentions toward Miss Wilde, just a sort of curiosity brought about by understanding a little of what could take place between a man and a woman, but we were both little more than children still, though I had started to develop the appetites of a man. It was a confusing time."

"Yes, it is an awkward age as I can well recall." He colored slightly and I wondered what he might be remembering, but I had no wish to inquire. Instead, I wished to proceed with my story and, so, continued on.

"Her mother left to fetch water for my pitcher. It must have been an oversight that she left her daughter there, usually the two of them went together. But in my mind somehow Miss Wilde had contrived it, wanted what I wanted. Though in looking back on the experience I can only feel ashamed.

"I stood up and said to her, 'I want to show you something over here' as I walked towards my shelves. She came over by me, probably expecting that I had a new book to show her, but as she was gazing at the shelf, I bent down and kissed her. It was just a small kiss, my lips had barely met hers before she turned her face to the side and backed away."

I noticed that Bingley's expression changed, but I did not know from that what he was thinking and my gaze shifted from him to focused on the books upon the table instead.

"I shall never forget what happened next;" the image was suddenly before me as I narrated it to Bingley. "Once Miss Wilde was a sufficient distance away, she pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and swiped at her mouth, as if I had contaminated her with something noxious, and her face became drawn and pinched. She asked me, without leaving me any time to answer, 'What do you take me for? So, tell me Mr. Darcy, the reading, was it all some act of seduction? I will have you know I am not such a girl! Did you pretend not to understand the ironies it contained to lure me in?'"

I told Bingley, "I was swiftly and suddenly ashamed. I had not meant to demean her, to force anything on her. I simply desired to feel what a kiss was like, a kiss with her. I felt, I do not know exactly what I felt, but the emotion overwhelmed me, and I knew that I needed to get away. Perhaps it was shame? I fled my room, nearly colliding with her mother in the process. As I walked around, the things my body does when I am upset were writ large upon me.

I chanced to pass near George, and he shouted out as I hurried past him, 'Why is Bitsy running away?' I rationally knew he had no idea why I was out there, but still my distress increased and I felt I could not get away fast enough, that nowhere I could go would I be safe. Finally, hours later, my legs sore, my feet blistering, I returned to my room when they must have been long gone."

"Did you see Miss Wilde after that day?"

"Yes, she came as before, but everything between us was altered. When I greeted her and her mother, they both responded properly but seemed cross. I had no further conversation from Miss Wilde. She did not smile at me anymore. The thing that had happened, the thing that I did, opened up a chasm between us that was impossible for me to cross, or at least I did not have the courage to try to cross it by attempting to explain myself, certainly not in front of her mother. I tried reading aloud the next voyage in Swift's book, but she pointedly walked as far away from me as she could, while still finding some cleaning to do. From that time on, the two of them cleaned my room much faster than they had before. I had ruined a good thing. After a couple of times of this, I did my best not to be present when they cleaned. Although Mrs. Webb is nothing to Lucy Wilde, bears no resemblance to her at all, the situation in cleaning my quarters here is too similar to them cleaning my quarters at Eton."

"If your stations had been different?" I met Bingley's eyes for a moment before I looked away.

"Then I am sure that I would have never ever gotten a chance to know her at all, given our ages at the time, but if I met her now and she was a gentleman's daughter, I would have pursued her. I have never forgotten the joy of discussing that book with her, nor her flashing eyes as she berated me, nor her chocolate hair."

He told me then, "When you are ready for it, I will help you learn to talk to women. Someday, should you desire my help, I will even help you find an intelligent and well-spoken woman who you could marry."

"A brunette," I declared.

"I will not forget it," he answered.


	9. Fulfilling His Promise

I knew I had an obligation to marry and to marry well. My father had drilled it into me repeatedly that I must marry a woman of consequence, someone whose breeding and style might match what our families expected and establish that my idiosyncrasies were of no import, someone whose place in society would cement mine. It was what was expected. It was what was needed to ensure that the legacy of the Darcys carried on to the line of Darcys that would flow through me to generations yet unknown.

But I had only a vague idea of how I was supposed to accomplish this end. When I pictured marrying, it was all about obligation and duty and had nothing to do with what I might desire. Yet after Bingley stated he wished to help my mind often drifted back to our exchange. Was it possible that he could help me? Could I really find such a woman who would want to marry me, who might truly come to care for me? Would he even remember his offer, what I had now come to regard as his promise?

While we were still at Cambridge together, the matter was not raised again by either of us. Neither was it raised during our correspondence of more than three years.

Although I was glad to receive Bingley's letters, his written words were not a good substitute for his presence. He expressed himself so much better verbally and it was harder to feel his presence while I was struggling to decipher the meaning contained in correspondence with many blots and missing words. Having helped him before, I was most familiar with his hand and able to make more sense of the thoughts behind his execution than most. However, even though I could understand them, eventually, reading them was like handling a string that was frayed to the point of almost breaking in some places and tangled in others; in short, it bothered me as such a string would bother me.

It was a struggle for me not to correct Bingley's letters, as I had with his papers during my university days. Every time I received a new letter, the desire grew. I would catch my fingers moving in the air above his missives as if I were holding a pen. I felt a physical need to correct his scribblings, to make order of the chaos, to tame it with correct grammar and spelling, to fill in all omissions.

One day, when holding his new letter, I wondered why I was fighting so hard against this impulse. It was not as if he would ever see my corrections. No one would.

As I began editing, I immediately felt better. After my first edit, I drafted a new and perfected letter. I might go back and forth about what word was intended: Was it "fortress" or "fortunate"? Was it "burying" or "braying"? Was a completely different word intended? I would make my best guess and then continue on. When I reviewed the original again and might make additional corrections to my revision before I finally wrote a final draft. Revising his letters could make for a cheerful evening for me.

Originally, I never intended to share my revisions with anyone, but I could not resist showing Georgiana (who was all of twelve at the time but already far above me in making sense of the world around her) my work after a particularly intense deciphering session.

The letter I was correcting appeared to be written while Bingley was perhaps writing from the desk in his carriage on a particularly rough road while he was somewhat intoxicated. It was the most jumbled mess I had ever seen from him. In the letter I believed he was bemoaning the loss of a woman who had lately married another man, but it was difficult to make the matter out. I decided to ask for Georgiana's opinion as to whether I had successfully deciphered his unreadable garble of a sentence that read: _Sh* **d *he must b*utiful **g*s and I ****l Nebbr *** ***** v**w th* *lc* ** cl**r Au****s *ay tink her._

My first effort yielded: _Should the most bountiful dugs and I mingle? Never, [ever, I must] vow that luck [will] clear Another's hay stink [from] her._ However, I doubted Bingley would write about a woman's dugs to me, and the rest of the sentence made little sense.

Dissatisfied with this version, I tried again: _Should the most beautiful legs and I shall never [be able to] view the luck [on a] clear Autumn day [without] thinking of her._

I showed these two versions to Georgiana after extracting a promise from her that she would not tell our mother about any inappropriate words contained in the letter. She studied the original and my transcriptions for a while before suggesting, "I think the first word you have is actually two words and this word," she pointed to the "g" in **g*s, "might actually be a 'y' and not a 'g'. And perhaps the "lc" is actually a "k" and 'tink' is 'think.'"

This yielded, " _She had the most beautiful eyes and I shall never [be able to] view the sky on a clear Autumn's day [without] think[ing] of her._ "

Well satisfied with Georgiana's help, and happy that she seemed to enjoy the activity also, what had been a purely solitary endeavor became something that I began to regularly share with my sister. So it was that she was just as eager for me to receive letters from Bingley as me.

It was some letters later before Bingley finally raised the subject of aiding me with women. He was responding to a letter I wrote to him, telling him that I would soon be in London on business and hoped he would call upon me after I arrived. I knew of course that as I was visiting, I should have called upon him first, but I did not particularly want to meet the rest of his family.

Thus, it was that in this latest letter, Georgiana and I learned how Bingley meant to fulfill the first part of his promise, to help me learn how to talk to women (although of course Georgiana knew nothing of Miss Wilde or of Bingley's promise). His corrected letter (which took us the better part of two evenings to decipher, mostly because she kept suggesting outrageous interpretations of blotted words, in an apparent effort to make me laugh), read in pertinent part as follows:

_I miss our association and I shall certainly be glad to call upon you on Tuesday, the twenty-third as you requested. However, I wish you to visit me and my family also rather than for only me to visit you at your London home. I live with my mother and two sisters. My mother is in ill health and you would likely not see her very often, but her presence in the house insures propriety. My sisters are who I really wish you to meet and get to know. They will be patient and kind to you. Indeed, they are most desirous of meeting you. I have told that them that you are a bit shy and awkward but are my closest friend._

_If you should come, my sisters will provide many opportunities to practice talking to women. They should prove invaluable in helping you improve your skills. Louisa is my elder and of an age with you and Caroline is nineteen and not yet out._

_Louisa is a light brunette, but she would not be a good match for you, for she is too bland in personality and has no great curiosity about the world around her. She would bore you as a wife._

_Louisa is being courted by a Mr. Hurst. It is no grand love affair, but they get along well enough. They are in no hurry to marry. Before my father passed on, he granted his permission conditionally. While Louisa since reached her majority and could marry now if she so desired, they are both honoring my father's wishes._

_The reason for the delay is that Hurst is awaiting an inheritance from his great-uncle which shall allow him to live separately from his parents. I think this uncle is now almost eighty and no one expected him to live this long. It will be a good match should Hurst's inheritance come through, but I imagine that Louisa will marry him sooner or later. So as should be clear to you, she will have no designs on you._

_Because Louisa has not married, our mother has directed that Caroline cannot come out until she reaches the age of one and twenty or Louisa marries, whichever comes first. I am almost certain that Caroline will be waiting for that birthday, so you have nearly two years to be friendly to her without her having any right to think of you as a marital prospect. Caroline is intelligent but does not have the hair color you seek. I do not think you would ever suit as she can be a bit sharp with other people, but she has a good heart underneath. She will be anxious to impress you._

When we finished reading this letter together, Georgiana asked me, "Will you call upon him and his sisters?"

I did not want to but said nothing as Georgiana looked at me with her wide eyes.

She then offered, "Brother, Mr. Bingley is a good and loyal friend. Surely you do not mean to wait until I am old enough to be presented to society and am able to assist you in finding a wife?"

The image of me depending upon my little sister to help me find a match finally decided me on accepting Bingley's offer and meeting his sisters. During my most proper fifteen-minute call, I said very little, but the next time it was not quite as hard, and I spoke a little more.

Bingley was correct that his sisters would be most kind to me and I soon became a frequent visitor to their home every time I visited London. They were not all that difficult to talk to and Bingley was always there to help facilitate the conversation. I found Miss Caroline Bingley the more interesting of the two, but while she was always kind to me, she could be rather mean with other people. My other general objection to her was that her copper hair, although attractive, was too startling of a color to be soothing.

As I had no designs on either of Bingley sisters, I managed to stumble through conversations with them and gain a bit more facility in such exchanges, but I had trouble taking an interest in their concerns. Often the conversations flowed around me, rather than requiring my contributions, but I did not mind that. What was fashion or gossip to me?

As the years went by, Miss Bingley became Mrs. Hurst, they all moved into Hurst's new home, and Miss Caroline became Miss Bingley. I managed to adjust to these changes and continued to be friendly with them. In these alterations, they still remained essentially the same or at least I could pretend they did.

When Miss Caroline Bingley attended her first ball after she came out, I accompanied her and the rest of her party. Out of politeness I danced one set with both her and her sister. Her ginger hair was elaborately arranged atop her head and she wore fine jewels and a new gown of pale pink.

It was not much different speaking to Miss Bingley as we danced as compared with when I saw her at her home. Her conversation had not materially altered now that she was a woman rather than a girl. As usual, she canvased familiar topics: praising me ("Oh Darcy, this is a fine enough room but I imagine it is nothing to the ballroom at Pemberley"); asking me about Georgiana ("I so desire to meet your sister, have you had a letter from her lately?"; criticizing what other women were wearing and their lack of accomplishments ("Oh dear, I do not know who has told Miss Granger that the shade of yellow she is wearing is still fashionable and did you see those jewels that Mrs. blogging was wearing? Everyone knows her husband is running short of funds. I imagine they are simply paste.") I had heard it all before and other than answering in as few words as possible her inquiry about Georgiana, I was free to let my mind wander, to glance about the room and see what brunettes were in attendance, cataloging them though I did not dare to talk to them.

When the set was over, I excused myself and contemplated asking someone else to dance. There was a lovely woman with chocolate hair and light eyes, who was the daughter of our hostess. I had been introduced to her earlier, but was unable to utter any words beyond, "Charmed," before she looked at me and I felt the need to quickly retreat and did so.

Now she was a few feet away from me and talking with a handsome man who was far more loquacious than me. I was not close enough to hear their conversation, but whatever he was saying was making her smile and her eyes sparkle. They traded more words as she wrote his name on her card.

I imagined walking up to her to request a dance, but having the words get garbled and stuck in my mouth. Her smile would fade as mere politeness prevented her from turning away. Instead of making the attempt and facing failure, I slowly walked away from her and tried to avoid talking with anyone.

I felt out of sorts. Bingley had been wrong. Just because I could talk and dance with his sisters, did not mean that I now felt ready to do likewise with other women.

When I retreated to the edge of the room, I watched as Bingley found partner after partner to dance with. I envied him his ease, the way everyone smiled at him. He danced with mostly blondes. When the players were taking a break, he came over and found me, exclaiming, "There are so many handsome women here, including some lovely brunettes. Should you like me to make some introductions for you?"

I shook my head.

"Well, at least you are here. It will get easier with time." Then he let me be.

Later, Miss Bingley sought me out again. The supper dance was about to commence. She clung to my arm. I let her.

"There is no one I would rather dance this set with than you," Miss Bingley commented, trying to catch my eyes which were determinedly fixed above her head on the candles on the other side of the room. I said nothing. My lack of contribution did not keep her from persisting in talking to me. I heard all about her opinions of the fashions that everyone was wearing but made no reply. It was very rude of me, but I could not bring myself to care. Eventually Miss Bingley left, I suppose in hopes of attracting a more willing partner.

I attended one other ball with Bingley and his sisters before I left London for my estate. Again, I danced one time with each of Bingley's sisters. Again, Miss Bingley sought me out and lingered on my arm for a time. She lingered so long that I had no choice but to escort her into supper. It was not so bad to prepare a plate of food for her and to sit beside her.

I did not think much about her behavior at these balls but apparently Bingley noticed as after this second time, he came to visit me the following day and told me, "I think my sister Caroline thinks you would make her a good husband. As much as I would like you to be my brother in truth, I have tried to tell her that you would not suit each other, but she is stubborn, almost as stubborn as someone else I know."

"Who?" I asked, confused as to whom he was speaking.

"You, of course. It cannot have escaped your knowledge that you are most particular in many regards, wanting things to be ordered just so. Perhaps you may want to distance yourself from Caroline, or perhaps it is time for you to look for a wife as once you are married any hopes she harbors will be at an end. I think her interest in you partially stems from her believing that should you marry you would be willing to part with some generous sums to facilitate her favorite charitable endeavors."

But I did not want to do anything differently than I had being doing; I was comfortable enough with how things were, and I seldom enough had that. Too, I would be departing for Pemberley soon. However, I did not attend any further balls while I was in London.

On my most recent visit to London with Georgiana and her new companion, I was more than ready to resume the pleasant association with Bingley's family. I wished for a distraction from the pain that still lay heavily on my heart from my mother's death and how I had failed Georgiana in failing to warn her about George.

When I came to call, the Hursts and Miss Bingley were not at home, but Bingley was. After the requisite expressions of sympathy about our mothers' deaths (they had passed within months of each other), Bingley told me, "You must congratulate me." When I inquired, thinking that perhaps he was on the cusp of getting married now that the official period of mourning for his mother had ended, he explained, "I have found my new home, it is an estate in Hertfordshire and I have already signed the lease. It is perfect, an easy distance from London and if I should find it satisfactory, it is also available to purchase."

He gave me many details before finally concluding, "I am sorry to tell you, when you have only just arrived in town, that tomorrow I leave with the Hursts and Caroline to take up residence there. I hope to finally fulfill my father's desires, to see our family established with an estate, by finally purchasing. The lease is through harvest of next year, but I may purchase it at any time."

As he said this, he did not seem as happy as I would expect him to be. In fact, he was less happy than usual, I judged based on his lack of a smile.

Being uncertain of the cause of his unhappiness, I expressed some doubt, "Are you sure, Bingley, that you wish to buy so soon? Why you have only just now taken up the lease. Managing property is a serious business, even with a steward there are many decisions to be made to make it a success. And to have you permanently so far away . . . . Can I not persuade you to consider finding an estate nearer to my own?"

"I think I would rather reside closer to London. Netherfield is a fine estate and the people in Meryton are kind and friendly. I hope to get to know many of my neighbors, and most especially their beautiful daughters," here he waggled his eyebrows, "at their assemblies. In fact, an assembly is scheduled for the evening of our arrival. I am more than ready to fall in love for good and settle down. The Hursts are not planning on staying long, but I am hoping I can persuade Caroline to stay longer as my hostess."

I found it doubtful that he would have much success with this. Miss Bingley never seemed content with what she had. She seemed to always be seeking excitement elsewhere. She was frequently away from London taking trips and visiting friends.

When she returned and I next saw her, Miss Bingley often mentioned me how she had just gotten a new maid as her previous maid had moved on to other employment. I thought it likely that she was a demanding mistress and her maids were most eager to leave her (perhaps they did not like to travel as much as she), but she never spoke ill of those who left. Instead she said things like, "I shall miss Tabitha, but I am certain she will be quite happy in Cornwall."

Bingley and I talked on for a while about the estate he was leasing. He told me much about the house but seemed not to know many particulars of the land. "Perhaps, Darcy, I might persuade you to visit for a day or two and give me your impression of the estate."

"Perhaps," I replied, having no real intention of doing so, at least not at this juncture, though I would certainly do so before he made a purchase. I did not want to be far from Georgiana, though she spent little time with me these days, instead mostly keeping to her rooms. I was considering having her stay with our relatives, the Earl (my uncle) and my aunt for a time. Though Georgiana was well enough guarded in my London home, I thought perhaps her aunt could reach her in a way that I could not, but I did not particularly want her around the Earl.

"I have a better notion," Bingley told me, "You must come to Hertfordshire with the Hursts and Caroline tomorrow. Miss Darcy is of course invited, too. It will be a perfect opportunity for you. No one will know you there and you may ease up a little, be yourself a bit more. You may even try new things without fear of failing at them. Those that I have met thus far are very friendly and kind. It would be a good opportunity to practice speaking to more women. Perhaps you might even try dancing with someone other than my sisters. You will never find yourself a bride if you do not exert yourself and make some effort. I do not expect you to find anyone there, but you could at least have more practice. If you pay more attention to other women, Caroline may finally set her sights elsewhere."

"You assume, then, that I have no interest in marrying your sister?"

"Would you really consider Caroline?" Bingley asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I do not know. I am more comfortable with her than with other single women of my acquaintance, but she is not the sort of bride that my father would have wanted for me."

"What other single women do you really know?"

I considered; there was my cousin Anne, but whatever was wrong with me seemed to be even more magnified in her. I had not decided whether to mention Anne to Bingley when he added, "Just because you can tolerate Caroline and are used to her, is not a good reason to marry her. I think Louisa married Hurst for similar reasons, but I do not know that she is all that happy with him. At best, I would say she is content. Far be it for me to insult my sister, but can Caroline even compare with Miss Wilde?"

I answered without hesitating, "No."

"Well, then, I certainly do not think you should marry Caroline. Do not even consider it! Instead, try to find someone who at least makes you feel what that girl did long ago."

I wanted to hope that it might be possible to find her equal, but it hardly seemed likely, and even if I met her, how likely was it that she would like me? Again, and again I saw Lucy Wilde's look of disgust as she wiped her mouth clean with her handkerchief.

Still, Bingley's words must have affected me as somehow or other in the course of a half hour he managed to persuade me to depart with them the next day. Georgiana, despite my best efforts, determined that she would remain in my London home with her companion.

But attending the assembly was too much. In London I was at least passing acquaintances with some people at the balls I had attended and the formality and the structure made it more bearable. In Meryton the dance was far louder and more boisterous. There was less civility and a tighter crush than I was used to.

It took me a long time to come up with an apt comparison, as I still struggle with analogies, but I think Bingley expecting me to speak and dance with women who were strangers to me, was like tossing a man who does not know how to swim into the sea when he is on a boat that is miles from shore. I am sure he meant well, but I do not think Bingley truly understands what it is like to be me, and how hard it is for me to maintain an approximation of normalcy. How could he, really? I do not know what it is like to be him, either, save for that despite his background which on paper is much humbler than my own, it still seems far easier to be him than me.

If I could have, I would have ridden away from there, fled from them all on my horse and spoken to no one. On a road, tracing a familiar path, I would have felt safe, at least for a while.


	10. Awaiting the Ball

The next day after the Miss Bennets left Netherfield and departed for their home, Bingley was most eager to go call upon them. He announced at breakfast, "It is my duty to make sure Miss Bennet did not suffer any ill effects in her removal from my home." Then looking about at me and his sisters he asked, "Will you not join me?"

I both wanted to accompany him and to decline. But before I could answer Miss Bingley responded, "Charles, calling on them the very next day would be unseemly. Let them have a chance to get settled back in their home. There can be no reason to call now."

Bingley did not look very happy with this answer but must have seen the wisdom in it as he said nothing further.

I am not sure when I made up my mind to accompany him when he next proposed to call, but the following day when Bingley declared to me at breakfast, "I am most determined that we shall call on the Bennets today. I will and must inquire as to Miss Bennet's health," I knew I would be going with him.

Bingley kept tugging at his carefully arranged cravat and swiping at his hair, making both somewhat unruly as fiddled with the eggs that remained on his plate, apparently wanting the time to go faster until it would be an acceptable time to call.

I proposed, "Perhaps we can take a ride first and then briefly pay our respects." He was quick to agree. He paced as he waited for our horses to be saddled.

Accordingly, once we mounted, we rode here and there to occupy our time. Bingley frequently pulled his horse up (forcing me to do likewise), to check his pocket watch. I found it disconcerting to see Bingley be so obsessive about something. I was not sure why it bothered me until in an epiphany, I realized he was acting somewhat like me in doing something repeatedly (though having a good sense of time I would not have checked my pocket watch repeatedly, but chosen something else).

We were just riding through Meryton when Bingley drew a little ahead of me toward a knot of people. We pulled up beside them and dismounted. Bingley lost no time in greeting the Bennets and addressing Miss Bennet. "Good morning Miss Bennet, we were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after you."

I gave a slight bow as it was easier to do this then to speak. I could see that Miss Elizabeth was just next to her elder sister and in that moment wanted to do nothing other than look at her, but I was also scared to be caught up again in her eyes and stare.

I distantly heard Bingley continue, "I was hoping to learn that you were much improved, but I dare say you must most certainly be, or you should not be out walking with your sisters."

In avoiding her gaze, I happened to glance slightly to the side of Miss Elizabeth and noticed to my great horror the George Wickham stood near her.

A sudden anger swept through me and I greatly desired to pull Miss Elizabeth away from George and strike him. George must have seen something of what I was feeling as he turned white and took a slight step away from Miss Elizabeth.

I stood rooted to my spot, trying to make sense of how George could be here. In that moment, I knew that coming to visit Bingley at Netherfield was a grave mistake.

George touched his hat to acknowledge me and I did likewise without much thought. Now that I had enough control over myself to not hit him, all I desired was to get away from him. He must have somehow perceived this, too, as he pointedly turned back to Miss Elizabeth and began to converse with her and her sisters.

As soon as Bingley finished his pleasantries and moved to mount back up, I did likewise. I did not want to leave Miss Elizabeth and the other Miss Bennets in the company of such a man, but I did not trust myself to be able to maintain any dignity if I confronted him now.

Furthermore, as much as I desired to remove the Miss Bennets from his company, I had no right to tell them what to do. After all, who was I to the Miss Bennets? I was not father, brother or husband. While I suppose I could have encouraged them to leave his company, how could I do so without telling them at least some of the sordid business? I feared, rightly or wrongly, that one disclosure might lead to another and imperil my sister's reputation.

George and I had come to a sort of truce after I came to Ramsgate, learned from Georgiana about her intended and intervened. He was to say nothing, and I was to take no notice of him, good or bad.

As I rode away with Bingley, bound once more for Netherfield, my thoughts were not on the street and the path before me. It was most fortunate that Bingley already knew his way around well, because I was not leading on my mount. Fortunately, my horse was happy enough to accompany his stable-mate home with very little direction from me.

I could not think of anything save an arresting image of that day in Ramsgate. It was of Georgiana's tear-streaked face after I declared to her, "You cannot marry George Wickham. I forbid it."

"But he loves me," she protested, "and he is practically family. Father would have approved."

"No," I shook my head vigorously for emphasis, "no, he would not have. And this is beside the point. I do not approve and never shall. George may have the appearance of goodness, but he only seeks his own happiness and not yours."

"But you were friends, should still be friends. George told me you simply had a misunderstanding, took something he said wrong. It is not so surprising; you often do not fully understand other people."

"Just what I am supposed to have misunderstood?" I asked her. "Did I misunderstand all his vicious proclivities at school? Did I imagine the liaison he had with his bedmaker or his bragging about all the women he had? Did I simply imagine how he tormented me for years for his own amusement?"

Still, she was not convinced. "It is a woman's duty to be pure for her husband. A man has no such duty. I may wish he had not done so, but he has loved none but me."

"Whatever he may have said, he does not love you." I held out a handkerchief to her. As I held it out, I realized it was one that she had embroidered for me with my initials in blue.

"What do you know about love, Brother?" She asked me, sitting up taller. She ignored the proffered handkerchief, instead rubbing her face dry on her sleeve. "You do not know the first thing about it. How could you? being as you are."

Her words made me feel horrible. I felt all my brokenness and self-doubt, pushing down on me like a physical weight. Georgiana was usually so kind and understanding of all my deficits, but today it was all stripped away. I felt there was some truth in what she said.

Perhaps Georgiana saw something of how I was feeling then as she added, "I did not mean that you cannot love. I know you love me and loved our parents . . . but how can you understand what is between me and George?" After she said that, she stroked her bottom lip a bit with her finger.

Whether or not I really understood about love, I resolved that I must tell her about what I suspected was George's motivation, as I could not, would not believe that he loved my sister. It had taken me years of contemplation to work out based on examining his actions alone, divorced from the pretty words he told Father, what made George what he was. I knew it would hurt her, but I believed it was necessary, nonetheless.

"George only cares about George; he only cares about his own happiness and will do anything he needs to do to get what he wants. He wants your dowry, but it would not last long in his hands. I wish I could believe that he cared for you, but for him you are simply a means to an end."

"That cannot be so; he told me that he loves me!" Tears swelled at the edges of her eyes again, but did not fall.

I wondered if anything could convince her. I had little skill in convincing other people of things. All I could think to do was to offer her the truth.

"Do you know how Father intended he have that living in the church?"

She nodded, "I do not understand why you did not give it to him. It was terribly unfair of you, wrong of you."

"Georgiana, I do not know what he told you, but it was a lie. I though George cared about Father, even if he did not care about me, but I was disabused about that notion after Father died."

I raised my hand to bid her to remain silent as her mouth opened as if she would speak. "I know he wrote condolences to you, which at the time I felt was sufficient; the lack of love between us might excuse him not writing similarly to me. When Mr. Wickham died soon after, I felt duty bound to express my condolences to George. Soon after received a letter in return. Before I opened it, I expected that perhaps he would thank me for my letter, or perhaps muse about how these two losses impacted us both, but instead he wrote to ask me for money."

I could see the scene right before me as I cracked the wax seal and read his missive. I still felt weighed down with grief, hollowed out, though months had passed since my own father's death. George's letter was simple and quickly came to the point. After his salutation, in the first sentence he wrote, "I cannot live upon the paltry sum that Mr. Darcy left me. More is due me."

I told Georgiana, "George had already received the thousand-pound bequest from Father, but he told me that the interest of one thousand pounds would be insufficient to support him. He brought up the matter of the living that Father told him would someday be his. I wrote him back to explain to him that the living was not yet available as its current occupant was of an advanced age but still in good health. I suggested that he might take his orders and apply to be a curate elsewhere while awaiting the living."

I did not mention to Georgiana how everything in me had cried out against giving him such a living and my hope that he might find another occupation far away. I did not want him to have the living, but it was what Father wanted and Father deserved for me to carry out his wishes.

"George wrote back telling me that having finally resolved against taking orders and that he hoped I should not think it unreasonable for him to expect some more immediate pecuniary advantage, in lieu of the preferment by which he could not be benefited. He explained that he wished to study the law instead and must have something to support himself in the meantime."

This was my sanitized version of what he wrote, which was more appropriate for my sister's ears than how George had worded the matter, saying "I need the occupation of the living about as much as a Drury Lane vestal needs crinkums. If you do not want everyone to know about your ailment, you would do well to make sure we come to a satisfactory arrangement." I felt again the relief that coursed through me then, that I would not have to endure him living near Pemberley, charged with ministering to our souls, that money would be enough to satisfy him.

"I hoped George was sincere in his intent to study the law but suspected that instead he had run through the thousand pounds in less than a year. However, knowing as I did that he ought not to be a clergyman, I offered him a more than fair sum for the value of the living, three thousand pounds, in exchange for him resigning all claims to it."

The living was not worth that much, but I wanted him to be satisfied and to simply leave me be. I had enough problems to contend with, without George being another one.

"However, when the living became vacant three years later, he wrote to me demanding it and telling me that he would be ordained as soon as the living was his. He asserted, 'Fitz, you have cheated me out of my inheritance by demanding that I resign my claim to the living. It was worth ten times what you paid me for it. I will take orders as soon as you present it to me or if you would rather, you can pay me thirty thousand pounds for it.' Naturally, I refused for I had already paid him amply for a living worth two hundred pounds per annum that came with a myriad of responsibilities."

I omitted from her what George had added after that. He told me, "Your father's true son deserves to live well. If I am dissatisfied with the arrangement we come to, I have it in my power to sink your reputation when I reveal your defect to everyone and show them what an imbecile you are."

I was not sure if George was trying to claim he was actually my father's merry begotten son, or simply held the place of a son in my father's heart. I doubted the former as my father always seemed devoted to my mother and Mr. Wickham was not just my father's steward but also his friend, though the latter could be true. As to his threat, I ignored it. I did not think he would stoop so low. But I wished in that moment I had just paid him, as perhaps he would have left my family alone.

While I was talking to Georgiana, I saw her face slowly droop, like a wilting flower. I did not want to do what I did next, but I felt it was absolutely necessary.

"Now tell me, Georgiana, in your interactions with George, do you have any reason to believe he is studying the law or has any sort of employment?"

She shook her head slowly and whispered, "No."

"So how do you think he is supporting himself?"

She paused again before mumbling, "Off of the money he received for the living."

"And how do you think he was planning to support himself after that ran out?"

Her voice was even fainter as she said, "I suppose on my dowry." Her face had become pale, her lips a dull color, and the expression on her face resembled nothing so closely as the one she had borne a day or so after mother had died, when the reality of the situation fully sunk in.

Her next words seemed more for herself than for me. "After all, it is not as if he could care for me for myself. You must think your sister a fool, to have been taken in by one such as him."

Something in my sister seemed to break that day. While after mother died, Georgiana played mournful tunes, after Ramsgate she did not even wish to open up the pianoforte. Instead, she hid herself away from everyone. She was not even willing to help me decipher Bingley's letters. I knew not what to do.

After George received funds in exchange for the living, I refused his second appeal for the living and additional funds, and I interrupted his attempt to elope with Georgiana, I thought, naively I suppose, that I would never see him again. Yet here he was intruding again in Meryton. Close as he stood to Miss Elizabeth, I could imagine him being quick to poison her against me.

When we returned to Netherfield, Bingley must have seen that something was wrong, for he asked me, in front of his sisters, "Why are you out of spirits, Darcy?"

I asked him, "Did you not observe George Wickham, who attended Cambridge with us, talking with Miss Elizabeth when we met the Bennet sisters in Meryton?"

Bingley shook his head. "No, I did not." I was not too surprised for he had eyes for no one but Miss Bennet.

Then he confessed, "I feel that I should know him, but cannot recall exactly why."

I told him very little of the matter, only sharing, "Do you remember all the trials I had at university? Well George Wickham, my father's steward's son, was responsible for many and if I had never seen him again until my dying day, that would have been too soon."

Miss Bingley asked a few questions about him, but I did not want to share anything that might possibly lead back to the impugning of my sister's reputation and did my best to curtail any additional conversation by saying in a cross voice, "I cannot bear to talk about Mr. Wickham any longer."

Over the next few days nothing much occurred of note until Thursday when we dined with the officers. As was my usual practice, I brought a goodly amount of fine wine and spirits, for I have found that libations are all that is needed to create a favorable impression with most military men. Most abhorrently, George was present at the dinner, but fortunately we were seated far enough apart that we were not expected to talk to one another. However, I heard him loudly declare, "The Bennet sisters are most lovely; I admit I am surprised that none have married yet."

Captain Carter opined (perhaps his tongue was loosened by the copious amounts of Madera he had consumed), "They may be lovely, but they have hardly any dowry to their names. Is that not right, Colonel Forster?"

Denny chimed in, "Yes, Mrs. Forster is bushel bubby to be sure—"

"Hold your tongue about Mrs. Forster," her husband declared.

Denny continued on, "—but so are most of the Miss Bennets. They have a real handful." He held his hands out, fingers spread, and then mimed a squeezing motion. "I wager the Colonel was swayed by the ample—" Colonel Forster was glaring at him by this time,"—purse that came with her. And after all, who would want Mrs. Bennet as a mother?"

"I would be willing to put up with Mrs. Bennet," George opined, "if they had more scratch. I spent some time with Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia at the Philips's card party. Miss Elizabeth is a good listener." He looked right in my direction and grinned before saying, "As it is, given their situation, they would not be good for more than a—" I saw Mr. Denny elbow him and he fell silent. I suspected the word he would have said was "tumble."

Soon after that we departed. That night sleep evaded me until the wee hours of the morning. I kept hearing George talking about Miss Elizabeth and imagining him imposing on her. I tried to tell myself I did not care, but I could not fool myself.

I woke up the next morning, Friday, to rain. Over the next few days the rain kept falling and there was nothing much for any of us to do, but to hear Miss Bingley talk on and on about all her preparations for the ball. I had my books but they did not provide a good distraction to my spinning thoughts. I wished I could have ridden my horse and had that way to calm myself. I suppose I could have ridden him anyway, the groom did some to keep him exercised, but I knew Miss Bingley would react poorly if I brought mud into Netherfield. I could not help but wish for the rain to cease.

I kept imagining what would happen if the rain stopped: Would Miss Elizabeth take to traipsing over the fields and getting mud on her petticoats again? Could I meet her on such a walk? It was a pleasing image. Unfortunately, there was no sickly sister at Netherfield to beckon her hither. I wished I, too, could flout social conventions for her sake.

Although I had not talked to Miss Elizabeth much while she was staying at Netherfield, I felt pulled toward her and a desire to be in her presence, no matter how uncomfortable it might be for me. I asked myself, could this be love? I had no answer. I kept hearing Georgiana telling me that I did not know what love was. It could be that she was right.

As the rain prevented me from being able to attempt to encounter Miss Elizabeth in Meryton again, I knew I had to wait for the ball. I both anticipated and dreaded it, but I knew that this time I could not haunt the periphery of the ballroom. I resolved that at the Netherfield Ball, I must ask her for a dance and warn her about George.


	11. Poetry, Vacillation and Preparation

The day after the assembly during our evening's entertainment, Miss Bingley said, "I have no wish to play tonight. Darcy, you have a very fine voice, could you not read some poetry to us? I have just the book." In the past a time or two I had read aloud as part of an evening's entertainment. I agreed and she passed me a book. I examined the cover and found that it was Coleridge.

"Would you please start on page seventy-three?" she asked. I flipped the pages, expecting to find the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" perhaps, or "Kubla Khan," but instead when I turned as she directed, I found a short poem entitled "The Presence of Love."

I stood in order to project my voice better, and Miss Bingley took the seat closest to me and stared at me as I read until I fixed my eyes over her head and toward the window beyond, letting the words flow through me, with more sound than sense. It seemed wrong otherwise to be the speaker addressing an unnamed "you" who must be the one he loved.

Miss Bingley praised my performance and immediately demanded I read another poem, but Bingley intervened and said, "Darcy, I must talk with you about the estate."

I went with him to the library, that sad room that was mostly bereft of books. He closed and locked the door, which was odd behavior from him. I asked, "What is so urgent?"

He paced a bit and then stopped before me. "I fibbed. I do have something important to talk to you about, but it has nothing to do with Netherfield."

My curiosity raised, I gave him my full attention.

"I do not expect that you meant anything in reading such a poem to Caroline as she was the one who suggested it, but I must ask you to refrain from reading such poetry to her. She already fancies herself in love with you, and in this she must be mistaken, but when you read such a poem expressing such words, even though you did not pen them, well, she is making her feelings clear in suggesting such a reading. She may feel there is hope yet that you will ask for her hand when you indulge her by reading said words . . . well, no good can come of it."

"I was just trying to be polite," I told him. "And the poem is a good one."

"I know you meant no harm, truly I do. Just, do not read something like that to her again."

I gave my assurances, of course, and that was the end of it.

The following morning, when I was walking side by side with Bingley back from the stables after a ride, Bingley said, "Darcy, I have been meaning to talk to you about how you acted at the assembly towards Miss Bennet's sister. I do not understand why you were so rude to Miss Elizabeth. It reflects poorly upon me as your host when you are insulting to others."

"It was all too much," I told him looking straight ahead rather than at him. I then explaining a little bit about what I had felt that night before adding, "I was in no mind to spend time with any woman and have her see the worst in me."

"I hardly think you avoided that," he told me, "when you insulted her appearance."

"You may think that, and perhaps you are correct," I acknowledged, but countered, "however, I would rather her think me rude than know the truth about me."

He stopped then and turned toward me. "The truth is not nearly so awful as you seem to imagine it to be. So, you have difficulties. So, we all do."

I faced him, hands on my hips, posture straight. "You have difficulties Bingley? You do? You who have never met a stranger, who are pleased with everyone and please everyone? You have no idea of what I struggle with. How hard it is to be me."

"I thought you had shared enough that I have some idea. But if there is more I need to know, let me have it." He responded evenly, calmly. I wish he had responded in anger and then I could have answered likewise.

I resolutely looked ahead. I could not bear to look into his eyes and see how he might be looking at me. I thought a while. I had shared bits and pieces, but very little about my early childhood or about what my father truly thought of me. But there were some things that I did not want anyone to know. They made me feel poorly; they made me sad; they made me feel other things that I had have no words for, or rather the words existed but I was not sure which words matched up with how I was feeling.

I thought about how hard my father had tried to shape me with the tool that was Governess Hayes. I felt angry in thinking of her, and though I knew Bingley's actions were very different from hers, was he not also trying to shape me? I let my lasting anger towards Governess Hayes out in my next words.

"Stop pushing me to be around people and to try to act as you all do!" I heard myself yell. I forced my next words to be quieter. "You have seen what happens when you do."

"Yes, I have. You attack like a wounded animal." He reached out toward me with a hand that I suppose was meant to be comforting, but I flinched away. He drew his hand back.

In a soft tone he told me, "Darcy, you know I have only tried to help, to make it easier for you. You have done so well with my sisters in London that I truly thought you were ready for more. Perhaps I did err in urging you to come stay with us at Netherfield, in requesting your attendance at the assembly and trying to get you to dance."

Bingley gave a little sigh, removed his hat and moved his hands along the edges while he thought. His light hair reflected the sun on one side as it was early yet, while the other side of his face was in shadow. He continued, "I have learned my lesson. If you wish to return to London, I will not try to stop you. If you stay, I will not accept any invitations on your behalf. You may contain yourself to the house if that is what you desire. If I have any guests, you may hide yourself away in your chambers. While I am already obligated by honor to give a ball at Netherfield, you may leave before it is held, or make yourself scarce."

"Thank you," I told him evenly.

We silently finished our walk, or rather without further conversation, for there was still the crunching sound of our riding boots which left impressions in the frost-coated grass as we strode over it. I also heard the scrabbling claws on the bark of a tree before I saw two red squirrels chasing each other round and round. It was a loud sound for squirrels, perhaps because they were running as fast as they could. I paused for a few minutes to watch them, and I knew that Bingley paused likewise as I could no longer hear him walk.

I could not decide what the squirrels were to each other: Were they friends and playing (perhaps taking turns in chasing the other, it was hard to tell them apart); were they enemies with the chasing squirrel trying to run the other off (that seemed less likely as they chased up one tree, lept to another, scrabbled down the other and then the lead squirrel jumped to the ground, crunching on a pile of leaves before running back up the first tree); were they perhaps a male and a female engaging in some form of courtship, the rules of which I did not know (which I supposed would mean that the male was pursuing the female as she ran from him, but she must not have been completely opposed to him as she had returned to the first tree)? I envied them their speed, the freedom they had to act and not talk, to resolve whatever was between them. I watched until they disappeared high into one tree and I could no longer see or hear them.

It did not happen that day, but as I considered further the options Bingley had proffered, including his permission to abstain from all further interactions, I realized that I did not wish to leave or to hide myself away. I wished to be with people even if I never felt like I knew what to say. Thus, I attended a gathering at Lucas Lodge, rode through town, and dined with the officers. But Netherfield remained my refuge, until it was invaded by the Bennets. I do not think it was accidental that Miss Bennet was invited to dine while we were away. Likely Bingley discouraged his sisters from having guests while I was present.

Still, I had largely forgotten about Bingley's decision to host a ball until more Bennets invaded to visit Miss Bennet. One of the younger Bennets raised the matter instead of leaving once the purpose of their visit concluded. She was somewhat like Miss Elizabeth in appearance but I could not imagine Miss Elizabeth spending the whole of a visit prior, whispering and giggling with her sister.

Bingley declared, "I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement," declaring that it only needed to be delayed until Miss Bennet was well.

Thus, when two days later after our separation from the women after dinner, we rejoined them and saw that Miss Bennet was among them in the parlor, it did not come as much surprise to me that Bingley would speak to her about his intention to throw a ball. I had been trying to examine some maps in my book but had already mostly given it up as a lost cause, as Miss Bingley kept interrupting me. Whom but she would presumptuously pick up a volume concerning a subject in which she seemed to have no interest, _Maps of North America, Volume II_ , without even asking me its owner for permission, and then ask inane questions about the subject that showed all her ignorance and lack of willingness to learn anything? As if that were not enough, Mrs. Hurst was making a terrible racket by playing with her bracelets, the jingle, jangle of them sapping whatever concentration I had remaining.

I heard Bingley say, "Miss Bennet, after you are truly well again, I hope to have the pleasure of your company at Netherfield again when we have our ball."

Finally, something had diverted Miss Bingley's attention from me. My eyes still fixed on the map before me, tracing the lines of the rivers and how they intersected on their path towards the ocean, I heard her say, "By the bye, Charles, are you really serious in mediating a dance at Netherfield? I would advise you, before you determine on it, to consult the wishes of the present party." She paused and feeling her eyes on me I looked up. "I am much mistaken if there are not some among us," she continued staring at me with unblinking eyes through this discourse, before turning back to look at Bingley, "to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure."

Bingley looked at me for a moment and then replied, "If you mean Darcy, he may go to bed if he chooses, before it begins—but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing; and as soon as Nicholls has made white soup enough I shall send round my cards."

I returned to looking at my book while Miss Bingley blathered on. I would give her no encouragement if I could help it. My mind was not on my book, but on the image in my head of dancing with Miss Elizabeth, us drawing near for one part, only to draw apart again as the dance required, but both seeing and feeling her beside me.

Just then I heard Miss Bingley inviting Miss Elizabeth to take a turn around the room; when she joined Miss Bingley, it was a most arresting image when juxtaposed with my prior thoughts about dancing with Miss Elizabeth. I thought about this event quite a lot afterwards, sometimes just focusing on the image of Miss Elizabeth moving back and forth before me (omitting as much as possible the image of Miss Bingley against her), sometimes focusing on the conversation that took place then. That conversation and the one that followed it was an example of how I felt I had excelled in conversing with Miss Elizabeth.

Miss Bingley asked, "Will you not join us, Mr. Darcy?" She tucked a strand of her orange hair (in my mind it is always orange, I do not understand why people insist on calling such hair "red" when this is obviously incorrect, a misnomer) behind her ear before lightly running her thumb along her jawline. I wondered why she was doing that.

I replied, "I shall have to decline; it would not suit as I can only imagine two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room together, and in either circumstance my joining to stride with you, one of each arm, could only interfere."

Miss Bingley loudly asked Miss Elizabeth to interpret my meaning, which I found rather odd as Miss Bingley should understand me much better than Miss Elizabeth with all the time we have spent in each other's company, but Miss Elizabeth soundly rebuffed her while looking toward me, her eyes holding my own for a moment, with more boldness than I had observed prior. In the direction they were striding, having just turned to walk back towards me, Miss Elizabeth was nearer to me, so Miss Bingley craned around her to address me, thrusting her bosom out.

Miss Bingley asked, "Whatever do you mean, Mr. Darcy?" but I did not immediately respond as I was once again enchanted by Miss Elizabeth, not just her fine eyes this time but her gently swaying figure as illuminated by the fire. "Shall you enlighten us as to these two motives or do you mean to keep it a secret?"

I realized I was staring, seeing her womanly curves cupped by the firelight, and did my best to pull my gaze away from Miss Elizabeth as I responded to Miss Bingley, "I have not the smallest objection to explaining them."

I would have gone on to do so had Miss Bingley not added, "Please enlighten us, I am so eager to know of your motivations, truly I am!"

And then to Miss Elizabeth, "Darcy always has good reasons for everything he does, but sometimes they are too complicated for the rest of us to understand."

And then to me, again, "Can I still not persuade you to join us?"

When Miss Bingley finally paused for a moment, I explained, "You either choose this method of passing the evening because you are in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss, or because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking—if the first, I should be completely in your way; and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire."

Miss Bingley smiled then as if I was expressing a great admiration for her, but I hardly noticed. In truth my gaze was focused on Miss Elizabeth as illuminated by the fire and it was she who I was admiring, who I would think upon long into the night.

While I felt I had acquitted myself well on that occasion, had almost been witty in explaining why I would not join them, sometimes in reflecting back on that evening, I regretted that I had not accepted. If I had I could have felt Miss Elizabeth's hand on my arm even if Miss "Annoying Distraction" was on the other side. But it was this interaction more than any other that finally determined for me that I must put aside my fears and pursue what I desired.

I knew that Bingley would understand if I abstained from attending his ball as he had already given me permission to do so, at least twice. I had no idea if Miss Elizabeth had any expectation of me, but I hope she wanted me to attend, wanted me to ask her for a dance.

When I finally decided that I would, must, attend the ball, I decided to take a methodical approach in preparing. Unlike another man, who might be occupied in deciding on which waist coat he would wear, or considering who he would solicit for a dance, I knew that I needed to familiarize myself with the ballroom. I waited until Bingley and his sisters were out on calls, to open the double doors and walk inside.

The ballroom was an elongated rectangle with a half circle added to one end which was ringed with two sets of windows, one set beginning at about four feet above the ground, and a second set perhaps eight feet off the ground. The first set consisted of four rectangles on either side of the double doors in the middle and the second set had ten rectangles above the first set, the middle two over the doors.. The double doors had smaller square glazings set into them and led out to the garden. The windows cast irregular quadrilaterals of light onto the wooden floor, but for one which was almost an isosceles trapezium. The floor was inlayed in dark and light wood to form designs. There was an elaborate half sunburst design to frame the half circle end. The rest of the room had a much larger elongated sunburst design contained in the center of two inset rectangles.

I paced the length and width of the ballroom to fix its dimensions in my mind, noting when I reached each rectangle. The edge of the outermost inset rectangle was set two yards in from the door and a foot in width, the next rectangle was two yards in from its inner edge and also a foot in width. I imagined that the rectangles were to frame the dance. I walked around each rectangle, once, twice, three times. It was pleasant to do so. The outermost rectangle was approximately eighty feet on its long side and sixty feet on its short side; it felt pleasing that the architecture was so regular in this room, so well planned out and so well executed. It occurred to me then that it was very unlike the assembly hall which had an irregular shape which was noticeably narrower at one end; undoubtedly this was one additional factor which had made the assembly so unpleasant.

Then I walked the entire perimeter of the ballroom, finding each door and discovering where each led. I was pleased to find that there were only four ways in and out to the rest of the house, only one per side: the main doors, the doors out to the garden, a single door which led into the kitchen, and a door into a room that might be used as a cardroom. The other doors only led to rooms attached solely to the ballroom: two necessaries (a his and her) with long hinged benches with inset chamber pots (with the women's necessary affixed with several looking glasses compared to only one in the men's necessary), two closets, and a fainting room for the ladies.

As the ball approached, Miss Bingley used to regularly apprise us of her progress and even insisted on showing us the room as arrangements were made. I willingly came with the party to view the set up of the room, even though she talked about all the wrong things, the color of the curtains she had affixed over the windows (what a pity to shade the light of day from making those warm patches on light on the floor and block out the stars on the night of the ball), her frustration that there was no time to re-cover the cushions of the chairs that now ringed the outer edge of the room so that they might match each other, her addition of additional sconces for candles which was staggered oddly compared to those which had been previously mounted in perfect symmetry. But still, it was helpful to know the room; it would help to ground me.

Tuesday finally arrived and with it our ball. Miss Bingley commandeered the servants all day with her fussing and everything was ready far earlier then required. Miss Bingley was clothed in her debut ballgown, her hair arranged just so and wearing her evening gloves and jewelry before I had even stirred from my book. I was reading Coleridge, the very volume that Miss Bingley had me read aloud from before.

I myself did not require much time to dress, but Miss Bingley occupied much of my remaining leisure time talking with me, forcing me to hold my place in my book. She was much more pleasant when there was no rival for my attention, but the conversation was dull. She was not Miss Elizabeth.

I pondered once again whether I should go to bed early as Bingley suggested I might. It would certainly be easier to avoid Miss Elizabeth than to be near her. Still, I felt I acquitted myself tolerably while Miss Elizabeth was at Netherfield tending to her sister. I managed to speak to her and not exhibit most conspicuous odd behaviors around her. I even thought myself witty on occasion. It was more enjoyable to speak with Miss Elizabeth as compared with Bingley's sisters as she had a way of making any conversation lively, in giving me many things to turn over in my mind afterwards, to examine from other angles.

Perhaps because of the book in my lap, I thought about her opinion that poetry, rather than being the food of love, had the efficacy of driving love away. And yet Miss Elizabeth had conceded, that poetry could be food for "a fine, stout, healthy love" as contrasted with "slight, thin sort of inclination" for which "one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.

Of course, there was a difference between writing a love poem to a woman and merely reading one. In reflecting on Miss Elizabeth's pronouncement, I wondered if reading that love poem to Miss Bingley fed whatever feelings she had for me. The poem had certainly not made me think of her, but rather informed me that Miss Bingley was not anyone who I desired because I felt nothing that the speaker of the poem expressed.

When I retired to dress (or rather to let my valet dress me), I flipped through the pages of the book again, seeking the poem that Miss Bingley had me read to her. When I found "The Presence of Love," I read it aloud with new eyes. I desired to memorize it as the words now took on a different meaning to me now that I had an object for my affection. What I felt for Miss Elizabeth could not be love, at least not yet, but I could not imagine addressing another woman with words like those.

I felt half hope and half dread about what might occur if I asked Miss Elizabeth to dance. I had no fear that she would decline to dance at a proper ball (my very status in society all but guaranteed her acceptance and she would not miss to wish out on the dancing), but feared instead that I would make a fool of myself; be found out as I was at university. If only she could be like Bingley and make the effort to know me and care about me for myself!

I still felt all the same anxieties as I had at the assembly when I waited in the ballroom with the rest of our party for the guests to arrive. The musicians were assembled in the half circle portion of the room, tuning their stringed instruments and practicing a few phrases together; it was a disconcerting assembly of sounds. I felt the press on my senses as before as the room gradually filled (although now the musicians were silent), but now I had the distraction of waiting to see Miss Elizabeth.

When I first saw her, next to Miss Bennet, just behind her parents, I felt my mouth go dry and had a sudden urge to visit the necessary, to be away. I resisted this impulse, but also did not go toward her, though she moved toward me to pass through the receiving line of which, naturally, I was not a part of. I was alone, save for Hurst, who was talking to me (or rather mostly to himself as I gave him hardly any reply) about when the cardroom would be open, how little he desired to dance, and about his expectations for the supper.

I did not dance the first with anyone, although Miss Bingley had hinted several times about wishing to open the ball with me. I stayed back, well back from that outermost rectangle, watching. I watched as Miss Elizabeth danced with a heavy-set man who moved wrong and trod upon her feet. I could see that she was trying to maintain a pleasant demeanor.

During the second set, I did my duty and danced with Mrs. Hurst. But I was distracted while dancing with her as I saw Miss Elizabeth moving in the dance several places down from me, dancing with an officer in his regimentals.

I resolved to ask Miss Elizabeth for a dance when once I was free, but when I was returning Mrs. Hurst to her husband, I lost track of Miss Elizabeth. It did not help that Miss Bingley (who must have been dancing with Mr. Hurst prior), immediately started talking to me.

After a few pleasantries, Miss Bingley asked me, "Are you engaged for this set? I have not yet filled my dance card." Then she waited in silence right near me. I said nothing, using this time to scan the room, trying to find Miss Elizabeth again through the crush.

I saw other Bennets before I saw her. There were her youngest sisters by a cluster of soldiers, Bingley talking to Miss Bennet, and Mrs. Bennet talking to Mrs. Long (fortunately I was too far away to hear what they were saying). Finally, I saw Miss Elizabeth and debated whether I should approach her. My stomach felt sour, my mouth was still dry even though I had drunk some punch during the first set.

I heard Miss Bingley clear her throat and then tap her foot, but she remained silent. Finally, she asked, "Well?" and waited.

I looked back toward the sisters, making no reply. Mrs. Hurst, catching my eye, said, "Darcy, I will be direct as my sister will not be. Charles has long told us that you prefer for people to say what they mean rather than assume you understand what is implied. Is that indeed what you want even if it might be uncouth?"

I nodded.

Mrs. Hurst grabbed her sister's hand and then said, "Would you please ask Caroline for a set? She has been trying to hint to you that she wants you to ask. Please do this to spare me, she will be insufferable if you do not."

Miss Bingley by this time was blushing and trying to pull away, but she was being held tight by her sister.


	12. Claiming a Partner

I was just on the verge of asking Miss Bingley for the next set, when my eyes saw just beyond her, Miss Elizabeth; she was far closer than she had been before. Distractedly, I told Miss Bingley, "I should be glad to dance a set with you later, but first there is something I must do." Not waiting for an answer, I walked toward Miss Elizabeth. As I walked toward her, I could hear the first lines of Samuel Coleridge's poem as I had recited it earlier, playing in my head:

_And in Life's noisiest hour,  
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,  
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy._

Was not a ball life's noisiest hour? Did I not still feel, despite the distractions, something deep within me, thrumming, determined? I let the next words play on:

_You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within;_

Then I was before her. I did not give myself time to change my mind and I was uncaring as to whether I was interrupting her conversation. "Miss Elizabeth, would you do me the honor of dancing the next with me?"

"I will." She responded and I turned away. Needing a moment to collect myself after my success (not unexpected, yet still thrilling), I walked around the room tracing the outermost rectangle with my feet but for when I had to divert against people discourteously standing close to or upon it. As I walked the counting of my steps was replaced with the next words of the poem.

_And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart  
Thro' all my Being, thro' my pulses beat;_

I felt my heart beating faster. Why was my heart beating faster? Why were my hands damp under my gloves? I diverted to the necessary, expelled my water, cleaned my hands and spared a glance in the looking glass. I could not see much of my turmoil writ across my face. I looked in the glass a bit until my calm façade was once again in place.

I resolved to walk the outermost rectangle once more, to settle myself. I reminded myself that this room in all essentials was just as it had been when I first walked through it by myself. I had perhaps time to complete two circuits before I must claim her for the dance. As I walked the words resumed.

 _You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,_  
Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve  
On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.

Yes, Miss Elizabeth was in my many thoughts, she was connected to the ribbon which I ran through my hands every day before putting it back in the drawer, the ribbon which I pondered many times putting in my pocket with my own string. I did not really understand how a woman could lie in thoughts like light, but I could imagine light reflecting on a rippling stream. It made me think of the stream at Pemberley, of the loveliness of my estate and how much I wanted to share it with her.

_And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,_

The heavens had bent around her, framing her, as she walked to Netherfield, as she walked through Netherfield's gardens, when she walked anywhere.

_How oft! I bless the Lot, that made me love you._

I told myself that my upcoming dance with Miss Elizabeth was unimportant, that it would be almost the same as dancing with Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley, but my body did not believe the lie. My heart kept thumping rapidly and insistently in my chest, my throat kept swallowing the spit that overwhelmed my mouth which even now still felt dry.

I considered leaving the ballroom and not keeping my appointed set with Miss Elizabeth. It would be very uncouth, very rude, but I would remain a stern and proud figure, not the idiot I feared I would be if I danced with her. But as much as I longed to flee, I longed to dance with her more.

When I returned to Miss Elizabeth and led her to the dance, I tried to temper my expectations. I had thought so many times about dancing with Miss Elizabeth that the actual event was sure to disappoint. In my imaginings I would be everything I ought to be to be a proper Darcy, but I knew immediately that I would fall short, that I would disappoint her. I should have been grateful for our companionable silence, but though I could think of nothing to say that would not be out of place, I longed to hear her voice addressing me.

I focused my attention on the little details of her that I wanted to remember: the three freckles by her nose that formed a triangle, the soft curve of her bottom lip that was slightly too large compared to the top one, the sweep of her brows with just a few hairs rebelling from following their fellows, the pattern to her blinks, the shine of her hair in the candle light, how the shadows and the light fell upon her womanly body, the sound of her swishing skirts and light feet, the feel of her gloved hand in mine. I finally understood all the longing in The Song of Solomon: "Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck."

Somehow, she must have known of my longing for her conversation as she began to speak. "This is a merry dance." She paused, waiting for me, and I agreed.

"It is _your_ turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.- _I_ talked about the dance, and _you_ ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples."

I pondered Miss Elizabeth's words. She made conversations a kind of game, a puzzle to be assembled and then rearranged to form a different picture. Was she merely being witty or had someone told her all the things I had to be taught that other children simply learned on their own, and was she now instructing me? If so, it was a mean art. I decided to assume it was the former and smiled through the doubt and pain.

I assured her, "Whatever you wish me to say, shall be said, posthaste." I waited. Would she instruct me or censure me now?

Miss Elizabeth looked at me, gave a slight tilt of her head that might be playful, smiled herself and then responded. "Very well.-That reply will do for the present.-Perhaps by and bye I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones.-But _now_ we may be silent."

I could not read with what spirit her remarks were intended. Had George spoken to her about me? I still needed to warn her about him. But not yet, not yet. For something to say I asked, "Do you talk by rule then, while you are dancing?"

She looked at me intently. Her gaze was too strong; I focused my eyes on Bingley who was behind her, while waiting for her response. "Sometimes," she said. "One must speak a little, you know. It would look odd to be entirely silent for half an hour together, and yet for the advantage of _some_ , conversation ought to be arranged as that they may have the trouble of saying as little as possible."

I wondered, was this a veiled reference to my early years when I still had so much trouble communicating? Or was she commenting on my near silence during her last days at Netherfield, making a point about my silence in the library when I feared that if I tried to make conversation it would drive her away?

I asked, "Are you consulting your own feelings in the present case, or do you imagine you are gratifying mine?"

"Both," she said. She was lovely, slightly flushed from the dance, her curls bouncing as much as they were able while tamed by many pins. All the distractions around me were blurred as I focused on her. She added, "for I have always seen a great similarity in the turn of our minds.-We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb."

I took some delight in our verbal sparring, which I had also enjoyed during her stay at Netherfield, but again wondered why she was speaking this way before I responded, "This is no very striking resemblance of your own character, I am sure. How near it may be to _mine_ , I cannot pretend to say.- _You_ think it a faithful portrait undoubtedly."

She looked down. Was she abashed by my response? She whispered, "I must not decide on my own performance." I wondered who was to judge it if not her or me.

We went down the dance, but the enjoyment I had taken in it before had vanished. My doubts were in full force. When we could once more converse, I decided to try to discover whether she was much acquainted with George, and as a prelude asked, "Do you and your sisters often walk to Meryton?"

She answered yes, then smirked before adding, "When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance."

I felt the blood rush to my face. I wanted to hit George, but settled for saying, "Mr. Wickham is blessed with the ability to _feign_ such happy manners as may ensure his _making_ friends where he desires-whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them, is less certain."

She wrinkled her brow before responding, "He has been so unlucky as to lose _your_ friendship and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all of his life."

I felt my anger threatening to overwhelm me but did my best to respond calmly. I told her, "There was a time when I wished for _his_ friendship but he never desired _mine_. He was happy to pretend he was my friend when it suited his purposes. My father certainly desired that we be friends and treated him as family, but we have never been friends and never shall be after all that he has done. You should be cautious in any dealings with him; he is not a good man."

My ears strained awaiting her response, but we were interrupted by Sir Lucas who made a reference to Bingley marrying Miss Bennet. I found him and her, two couples back from us. Was that prospect likely and was this a general expectation of the town? My thoughts had been so focused on Miss Elizabeth . . . I wondered, had I missed an attachment between my dear friend and her sister?

I turned my gaze from them and looked at Miss Elizabeth most earnestly. Would she respond to what I had revealed, or would the interruption silence her? Should I repeat myself or await her answer?

She looked at me and I could not decide what that look meant. Then she commented, "I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its _being created_."

I felt her statement was a test. I hoped I would not be found wanting.

"I am. I have tried to live by the Lord's instruction to forgive my brother's sin against me 'seventy times seven' but I confess that there are but two people to whom I cannot forgive, though the number of their offenses against me may be less than 490."

She shook her head slightly, "I am trying to make out your character, yet I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."

This comment recalled to me Miss Elizabeth's discussion with Bingley about sketching his character. Bingley truly may have meant his words, that "to be so easily seen through . . . is pitiful."

However, at least Miss Elizabeth (assuming she was being honest) recognized his value when she replied, "It does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than such a one as yours."

Bingley has no guile, which is part of why I am so fond of him, I do not have to try to make sense of hidden layers and double meanings. He never appears to engage in sarcasm, which I can easily miss when others use it. George was particularly enamored with using sarcasm around me, but at least Bingley was kind enough to identify it for me.

I wondered whether Miss Elizabeth had any inkling what my character is like and whether she would consider it intricate with its layers of what I pretend to be, rather than who I am under this carefully constructed facade. In truth, I think I am a simple man when once you know me.

Having already been bold, I decided to trust her. "I will tell you anything you wish to know, but I cannot here where anyone might hear. Then, perhaps, you can properly sketch my character."

She did not respond while we went down the other dance and we parted in silence, but for me saying, "Thank you" and her nodding in acknowledgment.

I was dissatisfied but blamed not her but him. George is certainly better than I at charming people. In this, he, Bingley and my cousin Edwin have a similar gift, but there the similarities end. George charms to use other people for his own ends. Bingley charms because he has a genuine interest in other people and their concerns; he has no guile, which is part of why I am so fond of him, I do not have to try to make sense of hidden layers and double meanings. My cousin Edwin is somewhere in between the two of them, but I want to believe he has a good heart and means well.

I distractedly walked a few feet away and stood with my back to the wall. I knew from my previous perusal of the ballroom that I was situated well away from any doors.

I saw Miss Bingley talking to Miss Elizabeth but knew not of what they spoke. I did notice, though, that Miss Bingley did most of the talking and Miss Elizabeth seemed angry.

I hoped Miss Elizabeth might seek me out when their conversation concluded, but instead a few minutes later Miss Bingley approached me. She told me, "Eliza has made a favorite of Mr. Wickham and became angry at me when I questioned the wisdom of that decision. She asked me about him and naturally I told her you have always been kind to him, though he treated you in an infamous manner. I tried to explain to her that given his breeding, nothing better should be expected. If you shall trust me with the particulars, I could inform her further."

She waited expectantly but having no desire to confide in her I merely said, "I appreciate you defense." I feared, however, that she may have made Miss Elizabeth doubt my motives further.

"I will always stand by you," she told me, "but enough of this nonsense. You should expect no better than this from people in this backwater; it would be well if we should repair to London and leave all of them behind. Now, let us talk of more pleasant things. I have the next free if that is when you would like to claim your dances."

I nodded distractedly. I knew it would be good manners to say something back to her, but I could think of nothing. Although I appreciated her support, I would have rather had Miss Elizabeth's.

Miss Bingley began questioning me, "Did I not hear from my brother that you have an aunt living within a day's journey of here?"

I found myself telling her about Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh as I watched Bingley approach the Miss Bennets. When he began to converse with Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth walked over to Miss Lucas and began talking to her. I felt despair; would she never deign to come and talk to me, and ask me about Mr. Wickham?

As my interaction with Miss Bingley dragged on, I wished that the next set would start soon so that I could do my duty by her and then be done, but the musicians appeared to be taking a longish break. I considered whether after our set I might in fact go take myself off to bed.

My mood was black and resentful when Miss Elizabeth's first dance partner approached me. He bowed very deeply, almost as one might for the king, and said, "Mr. William Collins, rector at Hunsford under the patronage of the right honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh at your service. I declare, I must abjectly apologize for not realizing you were Lady Catherine's nephew. I am delighted to inform you that Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh were in good health when I last saw them, yesterday sennight."

He droned on and on about what an honor it was for him to make my acquaintance, and how fortunate it was that he was visiting his cousins while I happened to be a guest at Netherfield. My mood became blacker still when he informed me, "Lady Catherine has suggested I find a bride at Longbourn among my cousins."

Having seen Mr. Collins dance the first with Miss Elizabeth, before I yet knew who he was, I feared he had selected Miss Elizabeth for this position. I felt a deeply disquieted at the image of her on his arm, beneath his body, his cloying scent overcoming hers, the ugly children he would father surrounding her.

Could I save her from such a fate? Be an alternative husband for her? Surely, she would prefer me to him! But did I want to have her for my future bride and would she consider me to be a superior choice if she really understood my character? Such thoughts still occupied my mind as I danced with Miss Bingley.

After our set was completed, I resolved to dance no more this night. It was far more pleasant to recall dancing with Miss Elizabeth than to dance with anyone else.

I decided to sit near Miss Elizabeth during supper, in the hope that I might speak further with her. I felt truly fortunate when I managed to gain a placement opposite her, even though it meant I was at a distance from Bingley. I imagined Miss Elizabeth and I pleasantly conversing (we certainly could not talk about Mr. Wickham before her mother and Lady Lucas), perhaps feeling her skirt brush my legs, perhaps even helping to fill her plate.

But instead of having an opportunity to speak with her once more, or to have any interaction whatsoever, I heard Mrs. Bennet's loud whisper to Lady Lucas: "Oh my, what good fortune for my family that soon I shall be able to call Mr. Bingley 'son' when Jane and he wed! Fortune has smiled on us Bennets with this brilliant match. Mr. Bingley is such a charming young man, and so rich, quite a better sort of man than his friend to be sure, even if Mr. Darcy is richer. It would not do to have the favor of such a miserable man."

I did not like that Mrs. Bennet had such a poor opinion of me, for as I had barely exchanged a word with her before, her impressions of me must come entirely from her daughters, mostly Miss Elizabeth. However, I had no time to ponder this further as when Mrs. Bennet paused slightly, her daughter hissed, a blush beginning to suffuse her face, "Mama, be quiet! Mr. Bingley's friend is right here! Can you not keep your voice down?"

Her mother ignored her and continued slightly louder, "And to think, my Jane shall be so well settled within three miles of us, and his sisters are already so fond of Jane. I have no doubt that they will be very pleased when the match is formalized."

"Please, Mama, desist! Mr. Darcy can hear you." Miss Elizabeth's blush grew; she ignored me, focusing on her mother who was only separated from her by Lady Lucas.

"And what do I care what Mr. Darcy thinks?" said her mother crossly. "He is not the one who will be marrying your sister."

She turned back to Lady Lucas. "And what a blessing for my other daughters," Mrs. Bennet continued on, pointedly ignoring her daughter who continued to quietly protest, speaking over her, "for as Mrs. Bingley, Jane will be able to throw her other sisters in the paths of rich men, not that Elizabeth shall need that for I have the expectation that she is about to be settled herself. At this time in my life, I can only imagine how grand it shall be that Jane will become a suitable chaperone for her sisters."

"Mama, please!" I thought I would be powerless to resist granting Miss Elizabeth anything she might she would ever ask of me, if she asked me with even half of her current fervor.

"Oh, Lady Lucas, if only you could be so fortunate with Charlotte and Maria, it would make my happiness complete. I wish this for you and your daughters. Fate will smile on your family soon enough."

Mrs. Bennet, from what I know of her, seems to always speak whatever it is that is on her mind. There was something refreshing about hearing Mrs. Bennet bluntly share her opinions about Miss Lucas previously when Mrs. Bennet and her younger daughters visited Netherfield when Miss Bennet was ill. I, too, like to speak my mind, unencumbered by societal expectations for polite discourse, but know I need to do my best to avoid doing so, for it would not be proper. Apparently, Mrs. Bennet has no such compunctions.

But at least, while I was not able to converse with Miss Elizabeth, I could look upon her, see new expressions on her face, hear new tones in her voice and observe how well she handled her utensils (much better than either Mrs. Bennet or Lady Lucas). When we had dined together at Netherfield, I was always seated between Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, with Mr. Hurst across from me and Miss Elizabeth a rather far diagonal away from me.

I considered a time or two trying to converse with Miss Elizabeth again as I noticed that she had stopped dancing. I stood where I could easily watch her. However, her cousin Mr. Collins was almost always beside her along with Miss Lucas. I was envious that he could claim her in conversation, make her listen to him. While it was too far away to hear their conversation (although I could sometimes hear her tones), I could see the play of emotions across her face, her smiles, her frowns. I stored them all up, the sight of her was delightful in my eyes. I had the sense that she did not enjoy conversing with Mr. Collins who was standing rather close to her, as she was always turned more toward Miss Lucas than him.

Later, I came a bit nearer to Miss Elizabeth, hoping she would give some hint that I should join her. But such a hint never came and often her back was towards me. It reminded me of nothing so much as seeing the backside of Nurse Storey the last time she left, nevermore to return.

When the dancing was at an end and Bingley's guests were departing, I stood closer to Miss Elizabeth still, hoping she would give some hint that I should join her. Perhaps it was cowardly that I did not attempt to engage her in conversation. But when I looked over at her, she avoided my gaze. Her family remained the longest after the ball concluded, but in vain I waited for a sign that never came.

That night in my bed, although my body felt heavy, my legs ponderous from the long hours I had stood upon them (Bingley had pointed out to me that only ladies sat between dances unless a gentleman was elderly or infirm, or in the cardroom), my thoughts continued to come rapidly and sleep still refused to claim me. For some time I pondered whether Miss Elizabeth might approach me another day, and if so, whether I should reveal all. I had many imaginary conversations with her in my mind.

Then as the first light of dawn began to lighten my room, I thought about Coleridge's poem, hearing each line play for me as I recalled every look Miss Elizabeth had given me that evening. Suddenly I sat up in bed, startled by a revelation that struck me like lightning flashing through me: Thinking of Miss Elizabeth in conjunction with the poem had only strengthened my regard; according to her own pronouncements, this must mean that already I loved her.


	13. Interlude 1: Miss Bingley: Losing Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this isn't a regular chapter, this is an interlude in which you get a chance to hear from another character's point of view. We started out with one in the prologue with Lady Anne, and we will periodically get these interludes. Sometimes they will relate fairly directly to the story as it now stands and other times they will mainly discuss another part of the story or answer questions about why things are like they are.

The night of the ball I knew I had lost Darcy. Perhaps I never had him, but I thought he would be mine, like a fish in a net who has not yet been lifted up out of the water but is nevertheless caught. But somehow, he had flipped out of my net and landed in Eliza's lap, even though she had done nothing and even now was not gathering him up in her skirt. Perhaps, eventually, Mr. Darcy would slip down off her lap and wriggle until he cast himself back into the waiting sea, or perhaps she would leave him flopping and gasping in her lap, never truly caught but fit for no one else. But I saw little chance of catching him while Eliza still had him, and he wished to be with her.

I previously suspected Darcy's attraction to Eliza when we attended a party at Lucas Lodge. I saw him standing near her and then even saw the two of them talking with Sir William. Darcy hardly ever wishes to talk with anyone he does not know well, but he seemed to be making an effort with her, although he looked uncomfortable and I imagined it was an awkward conversation.

When Darcy was left alone, I took the opportunity to check on him. Charles always wanted one of us close at hand for any social outings after what happened at the assembly. There was no dismay in his expression when I came up to him, just a little bemused smile and a soft look in his eyes.

We played a game we had played before, in which I was to give outlandish suggestions for what he was thinking. I did not play the game my best this time (that night when I was abed I thought of much more outlandish suggestions I might have made, "you were thinking about what it might be like to be a barnacle on Captain Cook's ship, sailing on all his great explorations but knowing nothing but your own tenuous existence" or "you were thinking about how you might drop the names famous astronomers, explorers, philosophers and the like, and convince this dullard crowd that these were actually the names of members of parliament: Copernicus could be our prime minister, Socrates his second"). I suppose I was irritated in seeing my quarry slip out of my grasp.

I said, "You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society . . ." and even as I fleshed this commentary out, I knew how haughty I sounded. I expected Darcy to call me on my lack of imagination, he is never shy about sharing what he thinks with me and does not carry if in doing so sometimes he tramples on my feelings.

However, to my horror, Darcy responded, "Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow." He then confessed that the object of his fancy was Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Scrabbling for a response I asked when I was to wish him joy. Rather than giving me a ridiculous response in which I might take heart that he was in jest, he gave a response which teased me for the rapidity of my thought but nevertheless declined to apprise me as to whether he might in fact have matrimonial intent. I teased that it was settled and he gave no hint as to what he was thinking as his face remained bland. I continued to, tease, hoping to inspire a reaction which would finally determine how he felt, but he gave nothing away. At the time, I thought I was dissuading him, but now I think he was already on a fixed track of thought about her which would lead to his heart.

Later, after dear Jane took ill and Eliza came to join her at Netherfield, Louisa asked me, "How do you feel about your chief rival coming to Netherfield? I cannot but think that the scheming Mrs. Bennet sent her hither, in the wish that while Jane is securing our brother (who would send her daughter out on horseback with the skies so black?), Eliza might do the same with Darcy."

I was not sure that Mrs. Bennet had the wherewithal to engage in such strategy, she seems so vacuous, but I was troubled that the man I had selected to be my husband might instead marry such a woman. I responded, "What is there to do? Charles has already invited her to stay and they will have to be in company soon."

"Perhaps we may harden his heart against her if we help him see how unsuitable Eliza would be as Mistress of Pemberley; a proper lady would never walk so far and get so muddy." So it was that we staged a conversation for his ear to try to dissuade him, but though I was able to get Darcy to admit that he would not want to have his sister make such a display, even when I carefully whispered to him, leaning closer than was strictly proper, hoping he might see just the barest hint of my décolletage, "I am afraid, Mr. Darcy, that this adventure has rather affected your admiration for her fine eyes."

However, Darcy struck a dagger deep in my heart when he insisted, with a faraway look in his eyes, eyes that did not seem to even see the bounty I had placed before him, which he could possess with matrimony until I had produced an heir or two, "Not at all, they were brightened by the exercise."

I saw how it was then and was silent, while Louisa still doggedly tried to sway his opinion of Eliza with another tact, attacking the professions of her relatives. Although she gained some moderate success when Darcy admitted that such connections lessened the chance of the Bennet sisters marrying well, I was not mollified. Time and time again I saw during Miss Eliza's stay that Mr. Darcy could not help but stare at her. I could not distract him by walking the room, but he was practically staring as Eliza took a turn with me, and dare I say that he was actually flirting when he said he could admire us both better from his seated position.

But the moment when I knew with absolute certainty that I had lost, was when Louisa begged him to dance with me and, instead, Darcy walked off to go talk to her. The way Eliza held herself, I could tell she was not at all pleased. But could he, would he?

The answer was a resounding no. I watched as Darcy walked the dark stripe of wood that formed a rectangle on the ballroom floor and stayed on that fixed path as much as he could (did anyone else notice, did anyone but me and Charles know him so well?). I watched as Darcy went through the door and then kept watching until he returned.

I watched as Darcy danced with Eliza, wishing it was me across from him. Wishing he wanted me.

I tried to tell myself that it did not matter. Certainly, his wealth would have made things easier for me and I could have done such great things with it (I had made great strides in bettering unfortunate women's circumstances by finding them new employment where they would be respectable, but it would be easier to place more women with ready cash and the prestige of such a marriage). But I told myself, I did not really care for Darcy, had just made a calculated choice in deciding upon him. Still, I felt like crying when I saw him smile at her.

I was too tired after the ball to entertain any discussion with Louisa about my predicament after the Bennets kept us up so long, but in the morning, I awoke with more determination to gain Darcy as my husband. While I might not have romantic love toward Darcy (although he was by far my best marital prospect) and I liked to pretend to be in love with him just so that I would not appear so mercenary to myself, I knew it was all a fantasy, just a fancy.

Yet I acknowledged to myself something that should have been evident long ago; I did love him in my own way. He was like a brother to me, a little brother that needed to be guided and helped. Eliza was not right for him; she would never understand him and she would only break his heart.

It was then that I determined, after Charles left, we would close up the house. If I could get Darcy to go back to London, all might not be lost. But as it turned out, all I did was delay the inevitable.


	14. London and Letters

The thought of being in love should have been comforting, but instead it filled me with an unspeakable dread. Loving another was not a blessing if she did not feel likewise. I examined all of my interactions with Miss Elizabeth, but there was nothing that could tell me how she felt.

I felt a sourness in my stomach, a bile in my mouth. I wish I could have been sick, for maybe then my distress would have eased.

Never before had I longed so much to be like other men. If I were like them, I could have, perhaps, deciphered Miss Elizabeth's expressions, had a way to know if there was any hope. What good were my eyes when they could not tell me how she felt, what the expressions that crossed her face meant? What good were my ears if I could not tell if she had warmed to me through the tone of her words? Was it to be like Miss Wilde all over again? If only I had never come to Netherfield or had left before my heart became engaged.

Although I intended to remain at Netherfield until Bingley returned, to seek his wisdom on this matter, I soon discovered that was not to be. Indeed, the very day after the ball, Miss Bingley sought me out and told me, "We will be closing up Netherfield and returning to London."

Naturally I asked why. At first, she told me that they did not think Bingley's business would be completed quickly and it was far better for them to open Mr. Hurst's home so that Bingley did not have to stay in a hotel, than to linger at Netherfield. But it did not take long for her to introduce another concern.

She told me, "Charles is so agreeable and kind that he will bind himself to Miss Bennet based on the strength of his admiration alone, with no thought to whether her own heart is touched, so long as she says 'yes.' I need you to help distract him from being so impulsive, and after all, you have mentioned missing your sister; this would be the perfect opportunity to see her."

I made no protest and merely nodded. It was far easier to leave Netherfield and Miss Elizabeth far behind. If I left, I could imagine there was hope, before learning for certain that there was none.

My valet of course packed all of my effects, but it is a habit of mine to always check a chamber before I depart from it to make sure nothing has inadvertently been left behind. In doing so, I paused before opening a certain drawer. I knew what it had contained and had no reason to think it had been disturbed, but still so long as I did not open it, it might be empty. I almost left the drawer untouched, until it occurred to me that it would be most improper for her ribbon to later be found there. That decided me on opening the drawer.

All the time before I pulled on the knob, I imagined that the drawer was empty. However, when I finally slid it open, a prolonged squeak as I pulled revealing that it was a tight fit, I found the yellow ribbon just as I had left it. Transfixed, I stared into the open drawer and at its only occupant. I studied the way the sunlight from the window glistened on the ribbon, making the top edge brighter than the yellow on its side, and the darker yellow on the part of the ribbon in the shadow cast by the side of the drawer. I also studied the shadow the ribbon cast, its darker twin. Without any conscious thought, I found my hand reaching for it, one finger stroking along the satin as gently as I might stroke a tiny fuzzy kitten whose eyes had not yet opened. And then I was reaching in and picking it up.

The ribbon weighed nothing, felt almost like mere air in my hand and yet I could feel, most slightly, its edges, soft but tangible. I wound the ribbon around my finger and then slid my ribbon wrapped finger along the side of my face and neck. I closed my eyes and did it again, this time imagining that rather than the yellow ribbon wrapped around my finger it was Miss Elizabeth's yellow gloved finger touching my face. I heard a slight sigh escape me and then blinked my eyes open.

I wondered why I was tormenting myself in this way and pulled the ribbon off my finger and then closed my fist around the ribbon. I pondered burning it in the fireplace, but my heart rebelled against having it gone. I debated for many a minute before finally shoving it into my pocket, next to my string. I pushed it down until it was completely concealed and then I left the room. While riding my stallion to London beside Hurst's carriage, my thoughts were not on the road but on whether the ribbon was secure. Several times I found myself imagining it spilling from my pocket and becoming lost upon the road. During each stop we made, my hand unerringly sought out the ribbon. Each time it was exactly as I had left it deep in my pocket. After I escorted my companions to their home, I rode for my own home.

Georgiana was glad to receive me and soon enough I shut Miss Elizabeth's ribbon in the back of a drawer in my own chamber. But this time, rather than being content to merely let it remain there, I found myself frequently opening the drawer to make sure it was still there, though I did not dare to touch it again.

A sennight passed and though I had seen Bingley and his sisters, we did not talk of anything of consequence. I could not tell if Bingley was sad that he had not furthered his acquaintance with Miss Bennet, but he did seem quieter and less jovial than usual.

Within the fortnight I received an odd letter from Mr. Collins. I should not have been surprised that a man who would deign to speak with me without an introduction would seek to impress me with his servitude through an unsolicited letter. I wondered, though, before I perused his letter, at his knowing how to find my address.

_My Dear Sir,_

_I feel most fortunate to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh and to have been fortunate enough to have met you, Mr. Darcy, her near relation. I am most thankful that I received the opportunity to pay my respects to you and also, lately, to assure Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh of your good health._

_Mr. Darcy, please allow me to offer you the proper humility. I am certainly far beneath the notice of a gentleman blessed as you yourself are, with splendid property, noble kindred and extensive patronage. However, I trust that as a clergyman and given my close connection with my excellent patroness, that I am not unworthy of addressing you and obtaining some portion of your notice._

_I cannot but reflect with utmost pleasure on the fortuitousness of our acquaintanceship. I happened to tell my distinguished benefactress of your condescension in dancing with my cousin Miss Elizabeth, and of your kind manner in allowing me to introduce myself to you. She was most pleased to hear the very handsome thought you voiced in your discernment of her noble character, that she would never bestow a favor unworthily in awarding me the living at Hunsford. It was such a complement to Lady Catherine and myself! You truly are the product of elegant breeding and I am most gratified._

_My reasons for writing you are, first, that I think it only the right thing to thank you for your notice. You may be pleased to know that Miss Lucas has made me the most fortunate of men by agreeing to be my wife; we shall marry in January. While I originally planned to obtain a bride from among my fair cousins, I do not think I was unworthy of Miss Lucas's hand, given the expectation I have in Longbourn from the entail._

_Second, I am convinced that it will greatly add to my happiness to be able to repay your condescension with a small service. I think it my duty to give you the speediest intelligence of some most unfortunate and disgraceful news._

_Third, which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier as it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady who I have the honor of calling patroness, that such information must be communicated to you, post-haste. Twice, the right honorable Lady Catherine has condescended to give me her opinion (unasked, too!) that I must write to you about what I have heard in Meryton. As this has been sanctioned by the express authority of my excellent patroness, naturally I felt I would not be assuming too much to pen this letter to the address she supplied._

_There is a certain Lieutenant George Wickham claiming a close relationship with the Darcy family and you specifically. This must be false, for why would Mr. Darcy, the son of Lady Anne, the grandson of an earl, associate with a steward's son? As the near relative of a very noble lady, one of the most illustrious personages of this land, you are most clearly not of his circle and any association could not be properly sanctioned._

_Mr. Wickham has been disparaging you most severely. False reports began reaching my ears before you had been gone from Netherfield more than two days. I was most amazed at hearing such gossip and strenuously opposed such disgraceful and utterly untrue characterizations. I sought out further reports as I wished to write you most accurately about such a matter after relating them in whole to her ladyship. Lady Catherine does not look upon Mr. Wickham or his wicked falsehoods with a friendly eye! It is my Christian duty to warn you as such rumors and false testimony could be injurious to and might also taint your beloved betrothed, Miss de Bourgh._

What followed was an extensive report, some three pages long, in which Mr. Collins related each person who had shared a rumor with him and what it was in meticulous detail. I did not recognize a single name. Perhaps they were all drunkards or simpletons themselves.

The stories ranged from those with a grain of truth to the utterly ridiculous. It was claimed I spent my first five years mute but for barking like a dog, to learn to speak I required treats like a dog, or Mr. Wickham taught me to speak, by working like a dog. I was the result of bad blood. I was insane and belonged in an asylum. My intelligent speech was but a parlor trick, the result of memorization and not thought. Wickham completely all my work at university for the sake of pleasing my father. Wickham tutored me. Wickham was paid to be my friend but when my father died he never received what was due and I further stole his inheritance. My father wished Mr. Wickham was his son; Mr. Wickham was in fact his son, born on the wrong side of the sheets. I was master of Pemberley in name only.

_I sincerely sympathize with you, it is to be much lamented and you are to be grievously pitied, which opinion I am not only joined by Miss Lucas, but likewise by Lady Catherine and her daughter to whom I have related the affair in whole once I returned to Kent. Let me assure you, Mr. Darcy, that all quality people discount these rumors as outrageous fabrications. I advise you to forgive the rumor mongers but never give any attention to this town or set foot in Meryton again. Such people deserve not any portion of your notice._

_Finally, far be it for me to resent the behavior of my cousins, but I must relate my sincere apologies for their part in one last rumor: My cousins said that Mr. Bingley and you are simple and have been seeking gentlemen's daughters to improve your stock. Of course I vehemently denied that this could be so, but in a show of ill breeding that hardly comports with them being the daughters of a landed gentlemen (the ranks of which I hope to join soon when Mr. Bennet passes to his eternal reward though he may yet live many years), they laughed and said having babies from idiots was not worth fine dresses and carriages; they preferred military men. I regret to report that despite my attempts to correct their wayward thoughts that my cousins still seem to believe Mr. Wickham's account._

_However, the Miss Lucases accepted my superior knowledge. I am most pleased with how Miss Lucas is of one mind with me._

_Mr. Darcy, please accept my humble apology for the behavior of my cousins and the ignorant denizens of Meryton who apparently have not the proper respect for those of rank and their close relatives. Additionally, please excuse me for not having written to you earlier to assure you of the continued good health of her ladyship and that Miss de Bourgh is in tolerable good health._

_As I understand the discourse between yourself and Lady Catherine is not frequent, I shall endeavor my best to keep you informed of all matters of consequence that occur there._ _I will gladly demean myself further should you have need._

_I remain your humble servant._

_William Collins_

As I read this letter, I first felt relief that Mr. Collins would marry another besides Miss Elizabeth (I had worried when I saw her dance the first with him, bumbling fool that he was). However, when he mentioned the entail, this was rapidly replaced with fear for the Miss Bennets' future. I did not want to see Miss Elizabeth become a governess or a paid companion where at best she would have to become meek and unassuming to please her employer and at worse she might be forced to service a master's desires.

There is much evil in the world, and I recalled learning of this particular evil from my cousin Colonel Edwin Fitzwilliam a few years prior, shortly after I completed university. We were discussing the dissipate lifestyle of the Prince Regent (then merely the Prince of Wales), and he told me, "While the Prince has certainly taken mistresses a plenty, I am of the opinion that all of them welcomed him to their beds. That is as it should be. There are men who prey upon women in their employ, who force themselves on others. This is most abhorrent."

I asked, although I suppose I should not have, "What do you mean?"

He took this (as he usually did when I asked, "What do you mean?") as my request for him to educate me.

"Women as the gentler sex are most vulnerable. All is well when they are guarded by kind and diligent men, going from father to husband. However, when forced to seek employment, a woman is now subject to the whims of her employer, either to be protected or molested by him, and there are none to help her if he has ill intent."

Edwin paused and ran his hand through his sandy locks, paced, stopped pacing, bit his top lip and then continued, "Should he decide he requires her to satisfy his baser desires, well there is almost nothing she can do. Should she fight, others will have first-hand knowledge that she is a temptress, a woman of easy virtue; her attempt to prevent his actions will prove that they are lovers and sink her reputation. Should she allow it, the truth will win out sooner or later. When that happens, at best she may be set up elsewhere as his mistress; at worst, she will be expelled from the house with no references while her belly is already swelling with his child. I should know, as the woman who is under my protection was a governess before her employer took unwanted liberties with her, stripped her of respectability and forced her to seek another sort of position. Sylvia would have never sought me out, had this not transpired."

On another occasion Edwin asked me, "Tell me, Fitz, have you known the touch of a woman yet? The Earl and I were discussing the matter and he has charged me with seeing to it if the deed has not been done."

I refused to answer but he was determined, telling me, "Saying nothing answers the question for certain. It is past time by now, Fitz. Let me talk to my Sylvia. I dare say she might educate you in such a thing if I asked her to. You would like her, she was a gentleman's daughter, who has understanding and education. She would be patient and explain and demonstrate well. You do not wish, someday, to marry and have no idea as to how to go about the matter, now, do you?"

I found the whole idea abhorrent. How could he offer her in such a way and why would I want to share such an intimacy with a stranger who was paid to lay with him?

Even a casual touch from a stranger when exchanging a few coins makes me uncomfortable. I startle easily when touched by someone I do not see approach me. I dislike the touch of most people but have learned not to fear it, though George's faked affectionate nudges were distasteful to me.

With those whom I am comfortable, a simple touch causes no distress. I liked the embrace of my mother, Nurse Storey, and Georgiana. I had no difficult accepting Edwin's more manly thumps of approval if I did something well. Professor Hanson's congratulatory shaking of my hand or clasp of my shoulder was pleasant enough. I can lounge next to Bingley with perfect comfort and tolerate with no distress his sisters on my arms when I escort them.

I told Edwin, "I have no wish to violate God's laws. A man should cleave to his wife and no other."

Edwin laughed at me, "Good ol' Fitz, rigid and upright as always, following the law to the letter and all. You need to relax and enjoy the pleasures of life more. But I suppose you are not ready yet. Come see me when you are, and I will arrange everything."

I said nothing, determined that I should never seek him out for such a purpose. Why should there be anything wrong in rigidity when it comes to following God's commands? If anything, Edwin was the one who needed to change his actions.

I suppose my silence was answer enough as then he let me be (perhaps he believed I would come to him eventually).

The idea that Miss Elizabeth might someday be placed in a position like Sylvia's was horrifying. Surely it would be better if I sought Miss Elizabeth's hand in marriage; knowing her vulnerability to having to seek employment someday when her father was gone, surely she would accept even if she had no love for me. But then a small part of me wondered, would she accept if she was one of the Miss Bennets who had been saying such cruel things, and would I want her to?

While I did not know the younger Miss Bennets well, I knew Miss Lucas was Miss Elizabeth's particular friend. I hoped Miss Elizabeth had no part in such cruel rumors, but I also had no desire to visit Netherfield or the surrounding environs again and find out for certain that she had.

I shared the letter with Bingley. He commented, "How could any sensible person believe and repeat such rumors? I cannot believe that the elder Miss Bennets could have any part in such lies."

I was less certain. I asked Bingley, "Given Mr. Collins's volubility, why would he not tell me if the reaction of Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth was to defend us and oppose their younger sisters in this?"

Bingley sighed and said, "I do not know, 'tis most strange. Miss Bennet has always seemed most kind. I cannot imagine her being cruel to anyone; it does not fit her character. It cannot have escaped your knowledge that I have grown most fond of her and have even come to believe that perhaps Miss Bennet shares my affection. I had planned to return already, but my sisters always seem to have a reason that I should stay.

"When I imagine returning to Netherfield, it begins with immediately accepting Mrs. Bennet's dinner invitation and dining beside Miss Bennet. In the course of the dinner, somehow I am reassured that she holds me in affection and then I imagine after dinner, by chance, having a quiet moment with her in which I ask her to be my bride. However, I want no bride that is inconstant in her character, that is pleasing when seeking to impress but cruel behind one's back. Surely if it is the younger sisters relating these thoughts, the elders might quell and correct them even if their mother would not. I have no desire to dwell in a place where they do not properly value you, Darcy, as you deserve."

Bingley also told me, "It seems that I was too quick to think well of the inhabitants of that hamlet. I fear I made a grave mistake in encouraging you to join me there."

I considered the interactions I had observed between Bingley and Miss Bennet. "I cannot recall any particular sign of affection from Miss Bennet towards you." But I also reminded him, "I am not a good judge of such things in the best of circumstances and was distracted by Miss Elizabeth."

He smiled then and said, "I noticed your affection for her, but unhappily it now appeared we are both crossed in love."

Later we had dinner at the Hursts' town-home. Bingley inquired of his sisters, "What is your opinion of Miss Bennet?"

Miss Bingley declared, "She is a sweet girl, however I would advise you to stay away from her, as given her family, it would be a most unfortunate connection."

Mrs. Hurst nodded and agreed, "Most unfortunate."

Later, during the separation, when we had drinks with Mr. Hurst, he told Bingley, "That Miss Bennet is quite a beautiful woman. If I was a single man looking for a bride, I would not mind to marry her and get at her apple dumplin shop."

Bingley pinked a little but later he asked me, "Do you think I was predisposed to think well of Miss Bennet because she is so lovely, to allow my desires to rule over my head?"

I shrugged; I had no answers.

In the next few days, Mr. Bingley's sisters kept us busy by shopping for furniture we did not need. I considered this current occupation ample excuse for why I had not yet replied to Mr. Collins's missive. In truth, I could have found the time to write him back, but I had no wish to associate myself with that groveling sycophant.

However, finally reason won out. I told myself I was responding because my mother had always stressed the importance of replying to correspondence and I wished to be sort of son my mother deserved. However, the truth was, I finally wrote back because Mr. Collins was currently my only link to Miss Elizabeth.

I kept my reply short but cordial. I congratulated him on his good fortune in his betrothal to Miss Lucas, thanked him for bringing the matter of Mr. Wickham's falsehoods to my attention and wished good health to himself, his cousins, and all his relations.

While I dared not mention Miss Elizabeth specifically, those well wishes were entirely for her. I dearly wished I'd had a chance to talk with Miss Elizabeth and explain what George Wickham was about and why I acted as I did. If only she had given a hint that she desired that, I would have hope and be willing to bear the open derision that I feared awaited me in Meryton.


	15. Mrs. Skeffington's Just Desserts

A few days later, at a dinner which I was hosting for Bingley, Miss Bingley and the Hursts at my house, Bingley surprised us with an announcement. He told us, "I have decided to return to Netherfield. I intend to discover whether Miss Bennet has any true regard for me."

Miss Bingley protested, "But Charles it is but a few days shy of Christmas and I hoped Darcy and dear Georgiana might be persuaded to enjoy some of the festivities with us."

Mrs. Hurst added, gentler in her tone of address than her sister, "The Christmas season is no time to be away from close friends and family, to have no one but servants near."

Bingley responded, "I would rather miss your merrymaking than miss a chance at love."

While they continued to protest, Bingley held firm. Finally, when there was a momentary lull, Georgiana said, "This Miss Bennet must be special."

Bingley graced her with a beatific smile and said, "Yes she is." Although I had often seen Bingley in love before, he had a different earnestness about him this time.

The next day Bingley came to see me on his way out of town. He asked me, "Do you think I am being a fool? You may tell me if you like, but it shan't change my plans."

I replied, "I do not know, but you are braver than I. Foolish or not, I have no wish to dissuade you from your errand. Good luck and God speed." I clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a smile.

Just before he mounted his horse, I imagined Miss Elizabeth before me, beckoning me to join her beneath a kissing bough; I would pluck one of the white berries of mistletoe and kiss her on the cheek. I dismissed this sudden fancy as very unlikely, although it would not surprise me if Mrs. Bennet had kissing boughs a plenty at Longbourn. I had no reason to believe that Miss Elizabeth would encourage such a show of affection from me; Bingley was more likely to be the recipient of such good fortune from Miss Bennet than I was from her sister.

I had a sudden desire to accompany Bingley and wished that he might ask me to come with him. But my wish had no effect. If Bingley had, of his own volition, asked me to accompany him, I would have gone without hesitation, justifying that I was doing it in service of a friend.

Had I asked to go with him, I did not doubt that Bingley would welcome my company. I almost called out, "Wait!" But the words remained unvoiced. I knew it would not be right to leave Georgiana at this time of year. And, thus, he took his seat and rode away.

During the Christmas season I was busy in London appearing at some amusements arranged by my aunt, wife of the Earl, and accepting invitations for events hosted by others that she deemed important. As always, her son Edwin was to squire me to and fro but I begged off many in favor of sedate evenings at my house, spent with my sister Georgiana and her companion.

In a quiet moment when it was just the two of us, I asked Georgiana, "Do you remember Bingley speaking about Miss Bennet?"

"Yes, brother. It is so romantic that he is returning to pursue her!" She clasped her hands tightly together in front of her chest and beamed. Her smile and gesture seemed almost child-like in its unbounded enthusiasm and reminded me of the Georgiana of old, before Mother passed and George dimmed her light further.

"Well, she is not the only Miss Bennet. She is one of five sisters. When I was in Hertfordshire, I became partial to the second sister, a Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Georgiana clapped her hands and her smile grew even wider, unfashionably so (I remembered overhearing Miss Bingley advise Georgiana on the proper way to smile). She asked, as I had been asking myself more and more as the days passed, "Why did you not go back to pursue her as Mr. Bingley did his love?"

I stared at my knees. "She is not my love and I doubt she holds me in regard. You know how things can be difficult for me, but she has another reason to think poorly of me besides my own behavior."

"What happened?"

I hesitated in revealing more but chanced a quick glance at Georgiana. She was leaning forward, her brow slightly tensed. She was waiting for an answer.

"Well?"

I finally decided to trust that Georgiana was strong enough to hear talk of him. "It must just be a nasty coincidence but appearing there with apparently no better occupation for his spare time, but to circulate nasty gossip to plague me again and have me at sixes and sevens was George Wickham, lately a lieutenant in the local militia! I fear George's lies about our association have poisoned her against me and cost me any chance I might have had to earn Miss Elizabeth's regard."

I hated bringing up his hateful name to her but if I had not shielded her from all of George's actions while we were at school and university, she would have never been the victim of his ploy. I do not know how I was expecting her to react, perhaps curse his name, perhaps look sad, but she did something wholly unexpected instead.

Georgiana slid closer to me on the sofa, wrapped her slim arms around me and told me, "Brother, it is my solemn vow that I will do all I can to correct Miss Elizabeth's misapprehensions if given the opportunity."

I felt tears prickle my eyes. It was just so unexpected to have her as my ally and receive her devotion. I did not cry, though, and excused my emotions to myself as relating to the anniversary which was approaching.

The Christmas season without our mother was painful as she had gained her eternal reward but days after the previous holiday. While I tried to not remember the date, December 29 was forever etched in my mind.

In many ways Mother had finally come into her own unfettered by my father's iron will and the interference of his domineering sister, Matilda Skeffington, only a few years earlier. It had not been easy for her, though.

Thinking of mother's death put to my mind how much she had mourned for my father when he was gone, how the love that connected them made her suffer from its absence. This made me think about how I might never know both the pleasure of being with the one I loved and the resulting pain that would someday befall one of us when the other was gone. I wished, earnestly, that I might not live my life alone, that I might find a bride I could love as my father had loved my mother, someone who would love me in return. Georgiana, bless her kind heart, tried to distract me from my morose thoughts with lively tunes and games.

When my father had passed, my mother was deeply depressed and passive when she needed to take charge. I had attempted to complete my last term at university after attending his funeral, although sad about his passing I had much more mixed feelings about his death given our complicated relationship but felt I could carry on, but I was summoned home mere weeks later by Georgiana's missive. She was surprisingly coherent for a girl barely eleven who had just begun corresponding with me months before, mostly to enclose her latest drawings.

She wrote, "Please come home brother, Aunt Matty has changed everything and mother will not eat. Aunt Matty says because she is father's sister she is in charge."

I answered my sister's request not with a letter but with my presence as soon as I could pen a quick note explaining my absence and get to my horse. My first concern was for the health of my mother and as soon as I alighted, even before refreshing myself from the road, I was striding to Mother's chambers and knocking on the door. It was of course not seemly for me to see my mother in her chambers, but the timid maid who opened the door apparently understood I would not be gainsaid as she admitted me. The sight that awaited me was worse than I had anticipated. Mother was in bed and even through the concealment of her bedclothes, I could tell that she was beyond thin to gaunt.

"Mother!" I cried, walking to her side, "You must eat more. We cannot lose you, too."

The smile she had given me faltered. "Fitz, I will try." She shrugged and gestured to a plate set on a side table, that contained kippers and beans, two items of food that my mother abhorred. The smell of the cured fish was overwhelming and made me anxious to get it away from her.

"But why?"

"Your Aunt Matilda likes them, I suppose."

I told her maid to take her plate away and to fetch something else. "Toast," my mother requested, "toast with jam."

After I refreshed myself and washed the dust from me, I decided I needed to gather more information about the running of Pemberley and what food was being served. I went in search of Mrs. Reynolds as I knew she would know what was occurring. But even before I located her, I saw many signs that Aunt Matilda Skeffington was ordering Pemberley for her own pleasure, apparently having appointed herself both master and mistress. Artwork had been changed, furniture rearranged, and even Father's desk had her stationary upon it, and his substantial desk chair was gone, replaced with one of a more feminine design. It was not to be borne and yet I was fearful of how it would be when I confronted her, as I knew I must.

I was used to deferring to Aunt Matilda. She was very like my father, tall with dark hair (only touched with streaks of white by her temples as his had been before he died), dark eyes and a commanding presence. Although for a few years I had towered over her, she always felt larger than me. I could not help but remember all the times she had loomed over me and directed what I was to do. She was the instrument through which my father's wishes were carried out when he was otherwise engaged.

I suppose it would have been more appropriate to send a servant for Mrs. Reynolds, but many of the servants I saw about were unfamiliar to me. It is very difficult for me to talk to people I do not know well, and I thought it would be easier to find Mrs. Reynolds for myself than to talk with these servants. While I have known Mrs. Reynolds almost my whole life, I had few interactions speaking with her and certainly none as the master. I would have to set the tone for our new relationship without understanding all the clues that govern human interactions.

When I found Mrs. Reynolds, I told her, "I need to speak to you about all the changes at Pemberley." She nodded. I said nothing more as we gained my father's office. Once the door was closed, I gestured for her to sit. I half leaned half sat on the front edge of the desk, rather than sit in Aunt Matilda's chair with its distracting baroque details and its floral upholstery. I asked Mrs. Reynolds, "Please explain the changes in the menu."

Mrs. Reynolds told me, "Mrs. Skeffington hired Mrs. Lock to be the head cook without my knowledge and demoted Mrs. Richards. All the menus were changed at Mrs. Skeffington's direction and she even went so far as dictating what foods should be served to Lady Anne for each meal."

Mrs. Reynolds further told me, tears glistening in her eyes, her voice altered from its typical calm certainty, "I tried to consult with Lady Anne about these changes but she had not the strength to oppose anything or take an interest in the affairs of the house in her grief, so she told me to let Mrs. Skeffington have her way and let her be."

I found myself leaning forward to clasp Mrs. Reynolds hand, to offer reassurance. I doubt I had ever touched her before. I told her, "I will see to changing things."

"I am so glad you are home Mr. Darcy. Should we start by changing that chair?"

"Certainly," I replied, pleased to be called Mr. rather than Master Darcy, pleased that she wanted me to take my place as master.

She called for a servant and gave the footman who responded instructions. Once the original chair was firmly in place, I sat down and felt my anxiety ease a bit.

"Mr. Darcy, is there anything further you require?" The footman who brought the chair asked.

"Yes, I require the attendance of the new and old head cooks. Let us begin with the new."

"Mrs. Lock," Mrs. Reynolds clarified, "get also Mrs. Richards, but have her wait outside."

I did not converse with Mrs. Reynolds in the interval. Instead as we waited, I practiced what I would say to Mrs. Lock most carefully in my mind. I felt better that Mrs. Reynolds was there but knew this was my responsibility.

When Mrs. Lock arrived, I told her, "Mrs. Lock I regret to inform you that henceforth you shall no longer serve as head cook as your hiring was unauthorized."

She tried to protest, but I silenced her by declaring, "I am the master here and it is my decision. You may either remain as the second in charge or receive a letter of reference, but you are to take no further orders from Mrs. Skeffington." I dismissed her from my presence, telling her, "Send in Mrs. Richards.

After reinstating Mrs. Richards, I conveyed my worries for my mother's health to both her and Mrs. Reynolds. Mrs. Richards nodded and said, "Since Mr. Darcy died, God rest his soul, it is not unusual for Lady Anne's dishes to be returned still bearing food that looks untouched. I have tried to make Mrs. Lock send more appropriate meals to Lady Anne, but she only takes direction from Mrs. Skeffington. It has been better since Mrs. Reynolds suggested that Miss Darcy dine with her. I regularly send tea and biscuits to Lady Anne's room during the day, but little of it is consumed; her maid says that when Miss Darcy is not around that Lady Anne mostly stays abed. Mrs. Skeffington orders lavish meals for herself and her guests."

I responded, "This state of affairs cannot continue. My mother needs regular meals." I then ordered, "Henceforth the menus will be returned to their previous state with one exception: Anything you or anyone on staff may remember or discover as being particularly toothsome to my mother shall be added at once. There shall be no more lavish meals without my or my mother's direction. Any guests of Mrs. Skeffington, if they cannot be dissuaded from visiting or partaking of a meal here while our household is in mourning, will be served the ordinary household meals."

While mother, as was usual, dined in her room with Georgiana, I properly dressed for dinner that night. When I arrived to escort my Aunt Matilda to the table, I noted to my displeasure that she was entertaining guests: Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair, Mrs. Wickham and two apparently single gentlemen that were unknown to me. I was only slightly acquainted with any but Mrs. Wickham. It was curious to me that Mr. Wickham senior was not in attendance. Perhaps if he had been, Mrs. Wickham would not be sitting squeezed between the two gentlemen on a sofa. Although Mr. St. Clair attempted to engage me in conversation, telling me, "Mr. Darcy is missed," I made no response but a slight incline of my head and quelled further conversation with a look.

When the footmen arrived with the one course meal, consisting of soup, bread and a humble cottage pie, I heard Aunt Matilda apologize to her guests, "There must be some kind of error. This is not the meal I ordered. It will all be better after the next remove. I must go speak to Mrs. Lock."

She was in the process of getting up when I addressed her in the most formal and cold tone I could muster. "Madam, the meal is as _I_ requested. There will be no remove and Mrs. Lock has no authority over the kitchen now. Your guests must be satisfied with what is set before them."

I saw her look of surprise and perhaps horror, but she resumed her seat and acted a proper hostess. Mrs. Wickham ignored us both and carried on a discussion with the men near her. I noticed she played with what appeared to be an emerald on a fine gold chain nestled in her décolletage, a gem that Mr. Wickham should not have been able to afford unless I was mistaken and it was paste. The man on her right seemed to show more interest in her and from my position at the head of the table, I heard her ask him, "Do I have something in my teeth, Mr. Needs?" She stretched out his name into "Neeeeeeeds." She leaned close to him, opened her mouth wide and bared her upper teeth, running her tongue over her lower lip. He leaned in toward her, his eyes roaming freely.

"Your teeth are fine," he responded. Then he leaned close and whispered in her ear. She giggled like she was a young maid. I felt sick in seeing this. Mr. Wickham was a good and loyal steward; he did not deserve to be treated like this by his wife. Memories from my childhood flashed before me and formed a picture that I did not like. With the wisdom of an adult, I understood now that Mrs. Wickham was not a loyal wife. My foul mood worsened.

I turned my gaze away from them and tried to focus on the other guests. I did not more than my bare duty to them, saying nothing that was not necessary. My stony visage served me well as none dared exchange more than a few words with me. When the meal concluded, the guests made excuses and departed. I noticed that Mrs. Wickham was escorted out by Mr. Needs. She clung too tightly to his arm and continued to giggle and carry on.

My aunt had the gall to confront me after they all left. She yelled, "You embarrassed me in front of my guests. How dare you usurp my role and change my meals! While a simpleton like you may enjoy meat from a previous meal disguised with potatoes in a pie, persons of consequence expect better!"

By doing so she provided me the very words I needed correct her. I faintly heard her continued diatribe, but I ignored it and did not respond immediately while I collected my thoughts and planned my words.

"Madam, a woman of consequence would not entertain guests so shortly after her brother's passing with food provided from said dead man's coffers to try to impress the simpletons who believe it appropriate to ignore her lapse in propriety in issuing said invitations by accepting them. A woman of consequence would not help Mrs. Wickham arrange her adulteries. A woman of consequence would not ignore her sister's suffering and add to it with food she cannot stomach. A woman of consequence would not bully servants who have served her family with true loyalty for many years. You try my patience, madam."

"You are no true master of Pemberley," Mrs. Skeffington said with a smirk. "My brother counted on me and not you to protect his legacy. You must give proper deference to your superiors in age and wisdom. I have known you since the cradle, watched each unnatural interest emerge, the ribbons and the like. You required a firm hand to improve at all. Your father coddled you overmuch by not allowing your governess free rein and look what has resulted, a man whom others deride who should be resident in an asylum, not polluting our line."

As my aunt voiced her terrible words, she stared at me with her dark eyes, barely blinking. Her eyes were so like my father's eyes, and at that moment resembled lumps of coal. I knew she wished me to look away as I typically would, to best me with her stare alone. I forced myself to stare back at her, to meet her gaze rather than look slightly above, though I felt an almost physical pain, as if I were being seared with a blacksmith's hot iron, in having her eyes upon me.

I began shaking with the terrible intensity of her words, her stare. I felt such powerful anger well up from me that I desired to strike her. I remembered how my tantrums erupted in the nursery when my words did nothing to stop Governess Hayes; I remembered the walls I had broken in the school room when I could not voice a correct answer and George sneered at me when Mr. Stowbaugh was not watching; I remembered the broken-down old cart I had ripped pieces off of with my hands until they bled when I raged like a wild beast. Fortunately, I was sufficiently master of myself that I did nothing then but press the palms of my hands against my thighs for a few moments to try to still them, as I gathered all the hate within me and directed it to my mouth, my tongue.

A deep voice, loud and angry but controlled burst out of me, "Madam, you will live at Pemberley no more!" I forced myself to walk away, past her, her threats and entreaties ignored, down a hall and then out into the gardens. All I wanted to do was to run and hide myself away, but instead I forced myself with measured steps to walk towards the woods.

When I was finally away from everything and everyone, I gave voice to every obscenity I knew, called her every vile name possible that could be applied to a woman, even those that made no sense relative to her or those terms that I did not truly understand (such as "laced mutton," "fusty lugs," "crone," "ape leader" and "strumpet") until I finally exhausted the extensive vocabulary I had learned at university, until all my words were all used up. Then I screamed and screamed until my voice was ragged.

Even then, I still shook with pent up rage. I wanted to hit and kick but knew I would only hurt myself. I forced myself to walk deeper into the forest, to name each type of tree as I saw it. As the names tumbled from my lips, I began to calm. I had named perhaps two dozen trees or more before I finally turned around. I named these self-same trees as I retraced my steps, noticing some small seedlings I had missed before. When I reentered Pemberley, I was able to think with more rationality.

In my chambers, I considered what was true. I knew who the master was, and it was not her but me. There were no terms in my father's will giving Mrs. Skeffington authority. Pemberley belonged to me and me alone, and to my heirs thereafter. While his will contained monetary provisions for my mother and sister and gave Edwin a small estate, all that it provided for Mrs. Skeffington was the return of the last property her husband had sold to my father, when mismanagement and overspending had required they retrench and live on my father's largess. My father, in separate documents, had set out plans for what was due those he cared for: the living for George Wickham, a place in Pemberley for Mrs. Skeffington for her life, eventually cottages for Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Richards which were to be fully staffed and paid for should they desire to leave the main house when they were too elderly to carry out their duties. The Wickhams were to keep the steward's house even after he could serve in that position no more; I was to build a new home for his replacement. However, these plans were only recommendations that had no force of law.

The following day, I instructed the butler with the arrangements I had decided on for Mrs. Skeffington (she did not deserve the appellation of "aunt"). She was to be removed with only her personal possessions to her property three counties away, along with the floral chair which she had apparently purchased with Pemberley's funds (I had no use for it and it seemed wasteful to consign it to a fire). While they did so, I remained in my room. She had a portion of her dowry and some support from her departed husband he had retained by living with us, so she could do well enough if she conserved. I resolved to think on her no more.

I had hope that my mother might improve with more appropriate food, but it seemed she only ate when Georgiana was present. When I saw my mother, her hair was lank, her face almost blank. I felt she was resolved to leave us; I did not know what to do to keep her from the grave.

It was my sister who happened on a solution, however. She told me, "I do not like to leave mother. She tries when I am near; otherwise she stays a bed. Do you suppose I could take my lessons in her rooms? And also, I know she has no wish to venture into the dining room, but perhaps there is a way we can all eat upstairs together?"

I thought her ideas to be most elegant solutions and as master of the estate I was the one who could implement them at once, but I would need my mother's cooperation. Fortunately, I believed I knew how to cajole her compliance with such a plan. Although she was far from well, Mother kept insisting, "Fitz, you must return to university and finish your education."

After consulting with Mrs. Reynolds, we converted a bedroom across from the master's and mistress's chambers into a room suitable for our purposes. Well-appointed furniture was placed about the room as well as a round table with chairs which was suitable for intimate dining and for my sister's more academic lessons.

I told my mother, "It falls to you to oversee Georgiana's education, I must insist that you are present for her lessons in this new room. Also, we shall the three of us dine together here, too, breakfast, tea and dinner. If I see that you are eating appropriately and making sure Georgiana is learning all that she ought, well then in a week or two I will feel I can return to Cambridge."

My mother made an effort, she truly did. After one week she insisted, "Fitz, you are leaving on the morrow for Cambridge; I shall be fine, Georgiana and all the staff shall see to it."

I did as she bid, however I made certain that I was to be informed immediately if she strayed from eating or engaging with my sister. In such a manner was I able to finish my last term, was at Cambridge to offer what comfort I could to Bingley when he learned that his father had died.


	16. Heartbreak and Hope

A few days after my quiet Christmas in London with Georgiana, Bingley came to see me. He was not his normal good-humored self. I was curious as to how he had enjoyed his recent stay at Netherfield and what the result had been. I had expected a letter announcing his courtship if not engagement, if I could make it out from his blottings and unfinished thoughts, not the man himself and certainly not the troubled man before me. I longed for any intelligence about Miss Elizabeth, no matter how slight, but needed to wait and discover how I could help him first.

Bingley sighed several times before he began his tale. "At first my return to Netherfield was everything it ought to be. The servants were happy to be of service, the neighbors called, and I returned their calls. I had a family dinner with the Bennets and their relatives, the Gardiners. This was most pleasant as Mr. Gardiner knew my father; I recalled he supplied my father with the materials for his carriage seats. Miss Bennet was everything proper and appeared happy to see me.

"The next time I called, it was too cold for walking in the garden. Mrs. Bennet made sure I was left alone with Miss Bennet save for Miss Mary who was playing the piano which muffled anything we might say. Miss Bennet inquired after my sisters. She told me they wrote her upon my last departure and again from London. She asked about you and told me that my sisters seemed to anticipate a closer connection between me and your sister."

I found myself becoming a bit agitated; Georgiana had not yet had her come out and Bingley had never been anything but brotherly toward her.

"Do not fear," he told me, "I corrected her misapprehension. But then she stated, 'I am most happy that you returned alone.' While explained she was certain the intelligence that Mr. Wickham had shared regarding you in his exchanges with herself and her sisters must be exaggerated and the result of misunderstandings, she told me, 'I was uncertain as to what Mr. Darcy's welcome would be if he returned as well.'"

He sighed then, loosened his cravat a bit from his neck and took a deep breath. "I thought then that she was simply grateful that you had not returned as well to face an uncertain reception or possible derision from the ignorant but what she said next was very troubling." He took another deep breath, rubbed at his eyes and unfolded and refolded his handkerchief.

"She said, 'I am glad your association with that man,'—imagine she reduced you to 'that man' just as you might refer to the man who mucks manure out from a horse's stall, or the man who begs on the street, a phrase with no dignity—'is not as close as I believed.' She told me, 'Mr. Bingley, I know you are generous of spirit and have attempted to help that man achieve normalcy. But surely you know such attempts are bound to fail. I am most concerned that a close association with such a man could hurt you.' She then laid a hand on my lower arm, I believe in either an attempt to comfort me or to demonstrate her regard, but I removed it with my other hand. I quickly made my excuses and left. I was a coward not to defend you immediately and I hope you can forgive that."

I made all the proper assurances and absolved him of that guilt, and he continued his account.

"As I had no hostess, I could not invite Miss Bennet's family to my home and at that moment I was glad that propriety in such a circumstance would also prevent her from calling on me. I knew I needed to talk to her once more without heightening her expectations as might happen if I called soon again."

Again, he paused before proceeding. I wished in that moment that I might understand what he was feeling.

"I had my opportunity at a dinner hosted by the Lucases three days before Christmas. Besides the Bennets and I, the officers were invited as well. I believe I glared at Mr. Wickham and, thus, he knew to avoid me the best he could. After the meal we played lottery together and Mrs. Bennet out maneuvered Mrs. Lucas, who attempted to seat me with the remaining Miss Lucas. In addition to Miss Bennet our table had Miss Mary and Mr. Denny. Our table finished before the others when Mr. Denny learned Sir Lucas was serving port and left.

"Once again Mrs. Bennet conspired to give us privacy, while others were present, to speak. Miss Bennet told me, 'I am glad to have a moment with you, Mr. Bingley. I must apologize for any offense I may have given you in speaking of your friend, Mr. Darcy.'—it seemed that then you were elevated to Mr. Darcy again—'Mr. Bingley, you are a very kind person, it is clear. You see only the best in others; it is an admirable characteristic to be sure.' I think by doing this, she thought all would be forgiven, that I would warm toward her once more."

"But you did not," I commented.

"No, I did not. What was more telling was what Miss Bennet did not say; she did not apologize for how she thought about you and she did not seek to find out more about you from me. When I looked at her in that moment her beauty remained unchanged, but any desire I had to bind myself with her had vanished. If she could not see your value as a person, she would be no wife of mine."

I nodded but made no comment, just gave his arm a brief squeeze to thank him for his unwavering support.

"Later, she stood beneath a kissing bower located above a window at the Lucases. She looked at me and subtly beckoned, but I pretended to be oblivious. She stood there so long that eventually Mr. Denny, who had returned to our table a bit inebriated, noticed her presence. He told me, 'Do you see where Miss Bennet is standing? I will give you first crack, but if you will not claim a kiss, I will be happy to do so in your stead.' Before if any had expressed interest in her, I would have felt jealousy, but just then it did not matter in the least to me.

"Before I could decide whether to make a response or let my silence speak for itself, Miss Maria Lucas suggested, 'Will you not claim a kiss from Jane?' I shook my head in negation and then saw how quickly Miss Bennet moved from her spot when Mr. Denny approached her. Many young maids received kisses that night, including Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia. The officers were very free in claiming kisses, though most limited their kisses to the maidens' cheeks, all but Mr. Wickham. But I had no regret in not claiming any."

Bingley seemed calmer now, but I had no idea what he was feeling.

"I remained long enough to time my departure with that of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Denny. I confronted Mr. Wickham and told him, 'Lieutenant Wickham, you need to quit telling lies about Mr. Darcy and properly respect the virtue of the maidens of Meryton.'

"Mr. Wickham tried to make a joke of it saying," (and here he imitated Wickham's voice, rising high as he was wont to do when making fun of me), "'Does Bitsy have his breeches in a bind? What young miss here caught his eye? Should I retreat it would not improve his chances! No woman of quality would want to be bound to that imbecile.'

"I told Mr. Denny, 'You had better remove the lieutenant from my sight. It is only my respect for king, country and the uniform he wears, that is sparing him from my fists. I doubt the ladies would like him half as well with broken teeth and a busted nose.' Mr. Wickham quickly retreated, showing that he is a yellow-bellied cur.

"I was not amused and resolved to myself to do what I could to correct the misapprehension of the townsfolk on my final day in Meryton. I had already met with my staff to remind them, 'As you well know, Mr. Darcy is a man worthy of the utmost respect. I will not retain anyone spreading gossip about my friend. I am depending upon you all to do your best to discredit misinformation concerning Mr. Darcy with your accounts from having known him.'

"On that final day I visited several shops to buy small items to brighten my staff's holiday before releasing them for Christmas. In each shop I made sure to spend some time in conversation with the owner or a prominent customer and mention something to improve your reputation or sink Mr. Wickham's. I commented upon your aid in managing Netherfield, I commented on Pemberley's success, I spoke of the generosity as a friend. Nothing I said was untrue.

"I do not believe your reputation to be in as much jeopardy as you may have feared from Mr. Collins's letter. Many times, someone approached me to tell me that they did not believe the idle gossip and thought ill of Mr. Wickham for attempting to deride the private dealings of the family who had employed his father." He paused once more but this time it seemed to be the contented pause of someone who has just completed an arduous task.

"One more thing I need to tell you. At the last gathering I attended at the Lucases, I had a most interesting exchange with Miss Elizabeth. When she approached me, I expected she would be bearing a message from Miss Bennet (whose eyes time and time again rested upon me). But instead Miss Elizabeth told me, 'I regret not having a final conversation with Mr. Darcy. Would you please convey my best wishes for Mr. Darcy's health and happiness?' Of course, I told her I would. Mayhap you will have more luck with her then I with her sister."

I pondered the meaning of Miss Elizabeth's words to me as passed on from Bingley many times, but came to no definite conclusions. Sometimes I get stuck on something, my mind running in an endless loop and that is how it was for me with this. I imagined many times how we might have that talk but each scenario for how I could arrange to meet with her seemed more outlandish.

I had no reason to go to Meryton. Bingley was absent and would most probably give up the lease and either leave purchasing an estate for the next generation or try again elsewhere. I had naught but indifferent acquaintances there.

If I made the trip merely to call on Miss Elizabeth (whom I had never called on before, I had not so much as ever visited Longbourn, could claim no real acquaintance with Mr. Bennet), I would cause unwelcome talk and perhaps be viewed as even odder than before. I had no real reason to believe Miss Elizabeth had any more interest in me than to clear up her confusion as to my character. While I did not see her, I could have hope that she returned my regard rather than receive confirmation that she did not. Thus, I did not act but hoped for God or providence to provide a solution.

My wishes seemed to perhaps be gratified through the receipt of another letter from Mr. Collins in late January. After the usual salutation, it began:

_After Mrs. Collins and I returned to Hunsford on the occasion of our wedding, I was most gratified to immediately be invited for a dinner at Rosings before we had yet spent even one night in our abode. We have both benefited greatly from Lady Catherine's diligent instruction and interest in our affairs. She instructed us on the proper way to care of our cows and poultry and encouraged Mrs. Collins to bear me a son before the conclusion of 1812. We are most grateful and gratified for her interest in her lowly rector and his wife._

I skimmed through his many flowery phrases to see if he had anything significant to tell me. I was rewarded by finding that just before the conclusion of his letter, the following information:

 _Mrs. Collins and I have the expectation in March of receiving visitors to our humble abode. Sir William Lucas with my new sister and Mrs. Collins's friend shall be visiting in March. We hope to exchange many happy returns with you when you visit Lady Catherine and your betrothed at Easter._ _I also look forward to becoming acquainted with another one of my esteemed patroness's nephews as I understand that Colonel Fitzwilliam shall be joining you._

I wondered but had no way of knowing who the friend might be. As Miss Elizabeth was Mrs. Collins's particular friend, I dearly hoped it would be she.


	17. Interlude 2: Mrs. Collins: A Bird in Hand

The Bennet sisters are fools. While I love my dear friend Eliza, she may be the biggest fool of them all.

I give the elder two Miss Bennets leave to be a bit foolish given their beauty. A woman may rightfully have a little leeway for a time if she can attract attention though her appearance without any effort. However, by twenty and beyond she must grow wise and deliberate, rather than indulge her stubbornness and folly. Dreaming of love for a little while is all well and good, but eventually each woman must do what she can to gain a secure future. That means she should analyze the marital possibilities around her and pursue a prudent match with a man that she can secure.

It is not as if Eliza (and Jane also) does not know that all the comforts on which she relies could be snatched away at any moment by the passing of her father. She depends on him overmuch when she should know, must know, that a woman is to leave the home of her mother and father and cleave to a husband instead. That is just how this life is.

I thought Eliza had it in her mind to try to secure Colonel Forster's interest when, at the party given by my parents, she encouraged him to give a ball. This was subtly flirtatious. However, to my surprise it was at this juncture that I felt hope that Eliza might attract an even more superior suitor, as I first observed Mr. Darcy's interest in her, attending to their conversation in a fixed way.

Mr. Darcy may not be the most pleasant fellow and is decidedly odd, but he has the means to give her a life of leisure and provide bountifully for her children. He is also quite handsome and there is something to be said for a man who is mostly silent.

Eliza's arch manner toward him was obviously, at least to me, one of disdain but fortunately for her Mr. Darcy did not seem to understand that.

I took the opportunity to have her display her talents for him before she could do something to make him think the better of his admiration. She always gives pleasing performances on the piano forte and I thought this might further incline Mr. Darcy toward her.

Then, as she was playing, I had a word with my father. I asked, "Papa, if the opportunity should arise, could you encourage Mr. Darcy toward Eliza?" He was quick to agree as I expected, for nothing gives my father more delight than to help pair up likely matches, though he has quite despaired of doing the same for me.

My father did his best, by suggesting that Mr. Darcy dance with Eliza. It was clear to me that the man was willing, yet Eliza snubbed him once again. Mr. Darcy must be a glutton for punishment or must truly be enamored with her.

The following day I discussed Eliza's prospects with her, first saying, "I think you have gained a worthy admirer."

"Yes," she said dreamily and then proceeded to regale me with her thoughts about Lieutenant Wickham. I was flummoxed, unable to understand how Lieutenant Wickham could have turned Eliza's head. Eliza seemed as silly as young Lydia when she told me, "Oh how I admire Lieutenant Wickham's person, countenance, air and walk above all the other officers!"

She would not listen to me when I tried to explain to her the folly of such an aspiration, "Eliza why do you wish to gain his fancy? Mr. Wickham is not even the best of who the militia has to offer in a potential husband. Colonel Forster is a vastly superior choice to Mr. Wickham as he has property and a higher rank combined with good character. If you desire a military man, it is he who you should wish to catch, not Lieutenant Wickham."

Eliza laughed at me and offered, while clasping my hand in hers and looking at me most earnestly, "He is far too old, almost as old as my papa, but he might do for you. Dear Charlotte, if your heart is engaged, I wish you good fortune in gaining Colonel Forster's approbation."

I knew as well as she that it was hopeless. If I had any belief that he might be obtainable, I would have surely done that, but as with many men his eyes slid past me to her when we were together.

Eliza babbled on and on about Mr. Wickham, telling me, "Mr. Wickham would be a good match for me if only Mr. Darcy had not stolen what was rightfully his."

I knew it was hopeless to argue with her about that subject. I thought that if Eliza knew that Mr. Darcy was under her power, she might consider him further. I told her, quite plainly, "Can you not see that Mr. Darcy is enamored of you? You must act while he feels this way and secure him."

Again she laughed, "Perhaps you need spectacles, Charlotte. Mr. Darcy only stares at me to find fault with me; remember, I am not handsome enough to tempt him."

After Eliza's sojourn at Netherfield, I kept my opinions about her potential suitors to myself. It was clear that Colonel Forster was no longer an object, as everyone had heard he was to be married, but I still thought she had an opportunity to catch Mr. Darcy.

The day before the ball, Eliza again discussed with me her admiration of Mr. Wickham. She dreamily told me of her hope he would solicit her hand for the first two dances at the Netherfield Ball, telling me, "I shall be certain to dress my best for then he cannot help but wish to dance with me."

I held my tongue. If she dressed in her finest, it would allow Mr. Darcy to better admire her, too.

Given Eliza's prior manner toward Mr. Darcy, I was pleased that she did not refuse his request to dance at the Netherfield Ball. However, I was fearful about what she would do during the set.

I did my best to encourage Eliza toward Mr. Darcy, saying "I dare say you will find him very agreeable."

Obstinate, headstrong girl that she is, she replied, "Heaven forbid! - _That_ would be the greatest misfortune of all! - To find a man agreeable whom one is determined to hate! - Do not wish me such an evil."

Her obviously ridiculous attitude silenced me, but when Mr. Darcy approached to claim her hand, I felt I must make one last effort to save her from herself.

Therefore, I whispered, "Do not be a simpleton and allow your fancy for Mr. Wickham make you appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man of ten times his consequence!"

However, being the foolish, stubborn miss that she is, Eliza gave me no reply besides a look that said, I shall do as I wish.

I know she wanted to dance with Lieutenant Wickham and there is nothing wrong with that. Likely if he had been present and she had danced with him, she would have raised the green-eyed monster in Mr. Darcy and that can be an effective technique. But to truly prefer someone with no means is bullheaded indeed.

The next day, I was shocked to discover that Eliza's cousin Mr. Collins had made an offer to her and been soundly refused. While I could understand that she was perhaps not expecting his address, I did not understand her lack of prudence.

I could understand Eliza passing up Mr. Collins's offer if she thought she could secure Mr. Darcy, but to just reject Mr. Collins for no reason other than his personality was quite foolish. He has a respectable position with a caring patroness and the expectation of far more. There is a rightness in him seeking to make amends to his cousins which shows a rather decent character.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; here Mr. Collins was the bird in her hand and the two in the bush were Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. I _do not_ fault Eliza for giving up any opportunity at Mr. Bingley for Jane; he is just looking for the opportunity of alighting in Jane's hand. I _do_ fault Jane for failing to extend said hand.

I tried, time and again, to get Jane to show Mr. Bingley how much she desired to become Mrs. Bingley. While there was no time to speak to her alone about it, the day after the assembly, on another occasion when she and Eliza came to see me, I stole a few moments alone with her (when Eliza was in the necessary) to tell Jane, "You must flirt and encourage Mr. Bingley to be in love with you."

But Jane told me, "I barely know him yet; should I truly encourage him if I do not yet know if he would suit?"

I responded, "He has five thousand a year and is handsome. What more do you need?"

She shrugged and the next moment Eliza rejoined us, ensuring that this conversation was at an end.

Knowing the closeness of the elder Miss Bennets, I repeatedly suggested to Eliza that she encourage her sister to secure Mr. Bingley, but she continued to focus on her idea that Jane should do nothing until she was sure of her feelings, stating that Jane's partiality was something that Mr. Bingley being its object, he should find out himself. This was obviously a ridiculous idea, but it was clear Eliza was not going to help Jane as she should.

After they were in company more, I again suggested to Jane when we had a moment alone, "Mr. Bingley clearly admires you. You have been remiss to not yet secure him. Surely you know by now that he would make a most amiable husband."

She told me, "I may make more of an effort if he has not proposed by the time of the Netherfield Ball. My mother is already making much out of nothing, thinking he holds the ball as a complement to me. She is already planning our nuptials and discussing my future felicity with anyone who will listen. If you think my mother is insufferable now, imagine how much worse she would become if I showed more interest. She has driven all of my previous suitors away. A fine line must be walked when she is around."

"Then, do not show him encouragement when she is near, only when her eyes are elsewhere."

"Do you not know that my mother has spies everywhere? She will learn of anything I do from your mother, Mrs. Long and all the rest. I know I should have made my interest clearer when I was at Netherfield, but I hardly felt or looked my best when suffering from that abominable cold. Mr. Bingley was ever so accommodating and solicitous, he would make a fine husband indeed, but with his sisters and Lizzy so near, well I could not see how to do it. But if I had, even now I might be engaged."

"Why Jane, from how Eliza tells it, all this time you have been hesitating while you attempt to make out your feelings but that is not it at all, is it?" Not giving her time to respond I added, "You are just as mercenary as the rest of us, are you not?"

"Perhaps," she gave a sly smile, it was almost a smirk, "but do not say anything to Lizzy. She sees the best in me, and I would hate to disappoint her. She is always going on about how she wishes to only marry for the deepest love and assumes I feel likewise. How she can believe that circulating library tripe about true love is beyond me. And I could certainly love Mr. Bingley; it would not be difficult at all."

It was only the vagaries of luck that her hesitation to extend her hand earlier allowed him to escape to London and remain there. Still, Jane told me she thought she might be able to finagle an invitation to London from the Gardiners and find him again by calling upon his sisters. I dare say if this does not work out, she will act more quickly the next time an eligible suitor crosses her path.

I will not even place Mr. Wickham in the bush. I think he may be a lech, a leech, sucking what he can get from whomever is available. In any event, whatever he may be, he isn't something to pick up; he is a diversion, a distraction, vermin and nothing more. The rumors he has spread about Mr. Darcy only show how lacking in good character Mr. Wickham is.

Eliza is stubbornly blind. How could she not see that Mr. Darcy favored her when he made an effort to converse with her while not bothering with any other women save of his own party at previous gatherings? How could she not see the honor granted to her when Mr. Darcy asked her to dance at the Netherfield Ball? How could she not see how he kept staring in her direction during the dinner at said ball? Why does she speak of love when she is blind to the man in front of her who is already half in love and would be the full way there with the barest of encouragement from her?

I do not regret securing Mr. Collins after making sure Eliza was certain of her rejection of him. She practically pushed him off on me when my family hosted the Bennets and her cousin for dinner (as I had suggested to my mother). Mr. Collins needed some encouragement which was easy enough for me to provide. When he sought me out the next morning and I saw him approaching, it was easy to set out down the lane to "accidentally" encounter him. If I "accidentally" brushed my bosom against the arm that he offered to me, he at least understood from that action that I was his for the asking. Jane should have acted similarly towards Mr. Bingley; if she had, she might already be Mrs. Bingley.

Mr. Collins is biddable; this is clear to see. As time goes on, I am certain I can make him defer to my wishes as he currently defers to Lady Catherine's wishes. He is not a strong man, but that is hardly a character flaw for my purposes. He wanted to fancy himself in love and I fulfilled this desire most easily and thereby obtained my life's goal of marrying and gaining my own home.

Although Eliza does not deserve it, I will still endeavor to help flush Mr. Darcy from the bush so that he may fly toward her. It is only right to help a dear friend, whether or not that friend acknowledges needing help, which she certainly never would.

Mr. Collins has certainly proved useful in this. In all his prattling about Lady Catherine, I learned that not only is she the aunt of Mr. Darcy, but that Mr. Darcy is expected to visit her just before Easter. So, while Mr. Darcy may no longer be at Netherfield, it is not too late. I only wish I could do something to further Jane's hope of Mr. Bingley.

Just after our engagement, I started hinting to Mr. Collins that he would be well rewarded should he grant my desire of having my father, sister and Eliza visit me in the spring. I also began to work on Elizabeth accepting such an invitation. The idea was so firmly implanted in Mr. Collins's mind by the time we were to wed that it had already been decided that the visit would take place in March and I had no hesitation in telling Eliza the night before my wedding that I was counting on her to visit with them then.

Being married to Mr. Collins has not been a surprise. He as just as unpleasant a husband as I imagined him to be, but everything he promised has come to pass and it has been easy to bend him to my will, bit by bit. We are frequent guests at Rosings and I have hope that our devotion shall result in increased patronage as Lady Catherine has other livings to bestow. I have limited my interactions with my husband as much as possible, selecting a parlor facing the garden for myself while he has dominion over the one facing the lane, encouraging Mr. Collins to work in said garden telling him how healthful the exercise is, urging him to visit his parishioners regularly and to work on his sermons in either the front parlor or his study. Mr. Collins is grateful that I allow him marital intimacies twice a week; he seems to have the impression that I am most generous to indulge him so frequently.

I am depending upon Eliza's visit, but more for her benefit than mine, at least at first. Perhaps I can still help Eliza secure Mr. Darcy, even against her will. In this way, she can have a life of leisure.

If I can orchestrate such a match, Mr. Collins and I could well benefit from Mr. Darcy's patronage in the church. There is no harm in that, since she stands to gain so much more than us. I just need to figure out how to make Eliza open her hand.


	18. Dreams and Wishes

After hearing from Bingley the message Miss Elizabeth sent for me, I began to hope that I might yet have an opportunity to gain Miss Elizabeth's regard. My hope needed an outlet, to have a physical manifestation, but for a time I did not yet know what it should be. But then, one morning without really thinking about what I was doing, I found myself retrieved Miss Elizabeth's yellow ribbon from where I had secreted it in a drawer.

I put Miss Elizabeth's ribbon in my pocket with my twine and began carrying it with me everywhere just as I did with my twine. Sometimes when I was alone, I held both strands in one hand while I twisted them together with the other hand, and then let them go and watched them unwind; I would do this over and over again. I wished I was bound to her, if she was as I hoped she was. Our lives could then be intertwined. My eyes began seeking out all things yellow: a thin stripe on the wallpaper in the hall, three fuzzy chicks my sister drew with crayon, the first opening dandelion spotted on a walk, at breakfast the butter I slathered on my toast and the eggs beside it, the bright sun. Every time I saw yellow items my mind flashed to the image of her yellow ribbon stirring on the thorn like a butterfly beating its wings.

During this time, I had several vivid dreams. In one, a woman who I knew to be Miss Elizabeth was wrapped from head to toe in nothing but ribbons, twine, string and rope that I was unwinding, an elaborate present, a gift to me. But as I freed her form, she changed into Aunt Matilda and the ropes and such came alive, turning into snakes and worms and began to strangle me!

In another, Georgiana was playing a lively tune as I led off a set with Miss Elizabeth, with only a few other couples in attendance. She smiled and laughed. I knew she was my wife and that later that evening we would enjoy the pleasures of the flesh as is good and proper in a union blessed by God. Thus, every touch and look reminded us of what was to follow. Then the dream shifted, and I was a servant looking on as the master, George, danced with his wife. When she turned, I saw that Mrs. Wickham was Elizabeth!

In these first two dreams the endings woke me in a fright, my body sweating, my heart racing, and I could sleep no more that night.

In a third dream I was a small boy yet in the nursery. I was singing with Nurse Storey as a nursery maid tidied up. I did not really understand most of the words I was singing, though I knew exactly how to sing them. While we sang my mother entered the nursery as well and her voice joined in our song. We sang together, our voices clear and bright. This dream had no horrible conclusion and I awoke well rested with a smile on my lips.

Somehow, I remembered part of the tune and tried to pick it out with uncertain fingers on Georgiana's piano as she watched and listened. With a few tries I had pieced together the basic melody and then the proper lengths to each of the notes. Georgiana exclaimed, "Brother I know this tune! But I do not know the words that accompany it." She replaced me on the piano and as the notes swelled as brought to life by her nimble fingers, I began to sing without knowing what my words would be, only each next sound I would make. As I sang each word my mind made sense of what to the boy were just sounds.

Georgiana played the song again and again. She began to join in singing as she learned the words. The song told the story of a pretty maid who a farmer's son found walking about the countryside. He greeted her and then shared his worries about her safety, singing "I think too bold you are, to range these fields so fair." Then he told her that he loved her and wanted to marry her but she rejected him because she did not want to work hard all day as a farmer's wife. She explained she would rather "range these fields so fair, to take the pleasant air." He decided that he would also prefer to range these fields so fair with her and then she agreed to be his wife and they took the pleasant air together.

We sang the song for a good long time until we had it firmly fixed in our minds. It was a piece of our mother that we had gained back. When I sang the words I both thought of the love of Nurse Storey and my mother, but also whether I loved Miss Elizabeth. I knew she was fond of walking and I longed to be the one accompanying her.

In March I received word from Mr. Collins, who had become my faithful correspondent, that his guests had arrived. I skimmed his letter but paid more attention when I read the following paragraph:

_Lady Catherine's condescension and care knows no bounds. We were so honored when, on the very day of their arrival to the parsonage, she immediately inviting my new father, sister Maria and Cousin Elizabeth to visit for tea._

Upon reading the name "Elizabeth" my heart soared and I felt myself rocking my head and upper body forward and back in excitement. My sister was in the room with me and noticed my movement.

"All shall be well, Brother," she attempted to reassure me, believing me to be upset by the motion she observed.

"All shall be well indeed!" I cried, grinning with excitement and anticipation. I ran to her then, hugging her and picking her up as I had when she was a young child. "Do you still wish to aid me and undo Mr. Wickham's interference with Miss Elizabeth's regard?"

"Oh yes Brother, I will do all I can." She bounced a bit herself as I set her down. "I will help you win her!"

I then read her Mr. Collins's letter and she immediately knew my plan. "I must join you and Cousin Edwin in your visit to Aunt Catherine."

I immediately sent correspondence to Aunt Catherine requesting the addition to our party of Georgiana and her companion Mrs. Annesley, anticipating no difficulties.

I then immediately wrote a most genuinely grateful letter to Mr. Collins. Extending simple courtesy to him had benefited me indeed.

_Thank you for being a faithful correspondence and the efforts you made on my behalf in Meryton. I am writing my aunt on this same day to ask about my sister Georgiana being one of the party for my Easter visit, so you need not pass on my greetings to Lady Catherine and Cousin Anne, but I pray you convey my greetings to Mrs. Collins, Sir William Lucas, Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth. I look forward to introducing my sister to your family and guests, especially Miss Elizabeth who I imagine could help Georgiana learn to become livelier._

Lady Catherine's reply was rapid, though not as fast as Mr. Collins's. He wrote:

_I am deeply humbled that you, Mr. Darcy, would take an interest in me, a lowly parson, and my small, modest existence. Your kind condescension has further convinced me that though your father's family is untitled it must be seeped also with noble blood. I expected no particular recognition for my family and guests by one such as you, but we are all deeply honored by your attention. Mrs. Collins asked me to invite your party to call upon us for tea when Lady Catherine might spare you, but we will understand if once you are in the presence of Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh that we might well fall beneath your notice and if that shall come to pass we will take no offense._

Lady Catherine's message stated:

_Darcy, I am glad Georgiana will be joining us this year at Rosings. It is my fondest wish that she might choose to stay longer with me and Anne when you must return to Pemberley._

Lady Catherine had often mentioned such a desire, but I had no intention of letting my sister remain behind for a more protracted visit. Our plans now approved, I made all the arrangements for us to depart the next day.


	19. Onward to Rosings

The journey from London to Rosings took the better part of a day. Georgiana, Mrs. Annesley and Georgiana's maid rode in one carriage while our valets rode in the other with the luggage. As for me and my cousin, Colonel Edwin Fitzwilliam, we rode our stallions with the outriders in front and behind the carriages. We planned to stop in the typical places for this journey, but to remain longer at each one to see to my sister's comfort. Although the day was cold, it dawned clear and bright, so I anticipated no difficulties with our journey.

The previous night I cautioned Georgiana not to speak about the purpose of her joining us as I knew Edwin would not take kindly to the notion of my desiring to court Miss Elizabeth. It was not, as one might think, that he would be against me associating myself with the daughter of a country gentleman with an undoubtedly small dowry, or that he would disapprove of her unfortunate connections to those in trade, her gossipy mother, and wild sisters. His time in the army had taught him that rank, wealth, and connections neither made for better soldiers nor men.

I expected once Edwin met Miss Elizabeth that he would be charmed by the lady herself and if, perhaps, one of our other cousins had decided to wed her, would have no particular objections other than the practical ones of how to help her gain acceptance in the society those of our status were expected to keep. Miss Elizabeth could become Georgiana's dearest friend with nary a raised eyebrow from him. Instead it would be me who would be the objectionable one in such a match.

Edwin had served as one of my minders for years. He catered to my needs, smoothed over my mistakes, made excuses for me and had every appearance of being my close friend, yet I had the sense that all he did was done at the behest of my father and uncle the earl, not because of any desire to help me personally.

Among his brothers, Edwin had all the charm and manners. He was dignified and likeable and consequentially when he associated with me he could improve others impressions of me. Unlike my father, he did not want me to adopt my stony visage, but to attempt to imitate him. He did not really understand me, but he was faithful in performing his job. As a consequence, my father had left him a small estate and he had retired from his cavalry post but he had not retired from fulfilling his obligation to my father.

I did not dislike my cousin. He was not like George. I believed he meant well and was loyal. We had been together for so many years that I was at ease around him. At one time, I would have said he was like a brother, but now, we were not exactly friends.

I first met Edwin when I was around four years of age (he would have been seven or so) when we visited his family's estate. I do not remember anything of that trip other than what my mother told me about it, and she spoke but little of the trip over the years. When it came up, she seemed sad.

I do remember the next time I saw Edwin. It was the summer a few months after Georgiana was born, when I was twelve and he fifteen. His whole family had come to visit Pemberley and our home was far different with so many guests. I remember feeling out of sorts that my places of solitude (other than my own chambers) were all overrun, even though when I encountered them his brothers mostly ignored me.

When I was not at my lessons, I spent a good deal of time riding. It was my custom to always ride at first light before breaking my fast and to also ride after my lessons if I had time. I felt confident while on a horse. I did not have to talk, I just had to be and though I did not think about it this way at the time, in looking back on it now I understand the exercise and activity calmed me.

I noticed that Edwin was often at the stable visiting the horses. The first few days we encountered each other there, he did little other than greet me, but gradually he began to ask me about the horses.

At that time, I had memorized a good deal of information about all the horses in our stable. Although I no longer needed a riding instructor, the man who taught me was a favorite of mine and loved to tell me about the horses under his care. Over the years I learned, how many hands tall they were, their sires and dams, their ages and temperaments. Thus, when Edwin asked me about them, I could rattle off information most easily. However, as was typical for me, I was most comfortable saying the same information in the same way and did not like to be asked for new information.

I remember he asked me a question for which I did not have a rehearsed answer: "Why is Mr. Wickham's gelding named Snail? I have seen him out and he is not a slow horse."

Questions are my enemies. Though I am much better at answering them now, I remember that I always used to feel an almost overwhelming anxiety when I had no pre-prepared answer.

That time I resorted to faithfully recited all the information I knew about Snail, in the hope that the answer was somewhere within what I knew, or if not that he would be satisfied. But as the information spewed out, I became more and more certain that I did not know the answer. I concluded with, "My father's horse is from the same sire and dam but is one year older."

Edwin regarded me with a wide-eyed look that made me feel uncomfortable. I did know how what it meant, but I did not like how it changed his face into something less familiar.

In defense I yelled out, "That is enough; that is enough." The loud words I myself spoke were angry and made me feel uneasy, I felt my body stiffen and to try to relieve how I was feeling, I began to pace

Fortunately, Edwin did not press me for an answer. Instead he quietly told me, "Thank you Fitzwilliam. I am waiting for a horse to be saddled." As I was as well, I also waited, gradually calming.

While we waited, he half reclined against the wall a few feet from me and told me in an even and gentle voice, "Next year I will be joining the cavalry. School is difficult for me and I am ready to seek my career instead." He did not demand anything of me, asking no questions, not even looking in my direction. Then he was silent.

Our saddled horses were brought out at about the same time and he mounted first. Without looking in my direction he said, "You may join me if you wish."

I made no reply, but he waited until I had mounted before setting out. I did follow him then, noticing that he glanced occasionally in my direction, I suppose to see if I was still with him and to make sure of my competence, though I knew likely he had already heard about my skill on horseback as my riding was one of the few things my father could boast about. The ride was pleasant as he took a route that was different from my usual one but one that did not pose any particular difficulties and there was something nice about not riding alone.

When we returned to the stable he told me, again his voice soft and even, "Fitzwilliam, you are a skilled horseman. I will ride again tomorrow morning. I hope that you will join me."

We rode together many times that summer. Though his brothers also rode, they never rode when we did. I enjoyed that time.

Edwin never demanded anything of me. Occasionally he would ask me a question but ignore it if I did not answer or answered incorrectly. He would also listen to me talk. I know I probably said the same things many, many times, but he would still listen patiently and occasionally contribute something to the conversation. He would also tell me things without expecting any sort of an answer, though as time went on, I was more apt to respond to his conversation.

I found that after a while I gravitated towards Edwin at other times, too. I became a sort of shadow to him. It felt safe to be beside him. He never rejected me, and when his brothers bothered me, he told them, "Leave Fitz alone."

I began to accompany Edwin when he went to the nursery to see his sisters. I would often watch him play with them as I held my own sister and rocked her in the rocking chair. I took him as my example of how a brother ought to act.

Spending time with Edwin had another benefit. I had to take my lessons with George Wickham, which would not have been my preference, but my father was always urging me to spend my leisure time with him (though I did my best to avoid doing so). However, when I was with Edwin, no one ever asked me to go anywhere else or do anything else. They were content to entrust me to my cousin.

I had a lot of resentment towards George because he liked to tattle on me. I resented him for both telling lies about me and the truth. It is easier now to channel my frustrations and even rage into more productive activities, but as a child I often acted out over things I had no control over.

It was not uncommon for me to destroy or ruin things when frustrated. Sometimes my anger was channeled into a sudden, dramatic act of destruction, such as when I ripped drapes in our school room with my bare hands. Other times it was a covert sabotage, subtle destruction that no one might notice for a good long time, such as when I took a knife to a throw rug in my bedroom, first only making a tiny cut in one corner, then as the days went by I added more cuts until the damage was dramatic when someone took the trouble to actually look at it.

George always made sure my father knew who was responsible for any damage. Perhaps, at first, this might have been done to prevent him from somehow getting in trouble, but as we grew older, it became worse than him just tattling. George began to break things deliberately and then lay the blame on me. He knew if he did something characteristic of me that I would always get the blame.

At the time I had no idea of his motive, but having a bit of distance and being older (and having heard Edwin's and Bingley's opinion on the matter more than a few times), I understand George's behavior better than I did at the time. I believe George was envious of my position in life, hated me for having what he did not, especially because he did not believe I deserved it, and sought to integrate himself to my father.

I remember an incident where I snuck into the hen house, collected a basket full of eggs and pilfered them and was caught throwing them. This was not the first time I had taken eggs from the hen house. I done this a few times before, though it took preparation for me to carry out the final act of taking the eggs.

The first time the smell put me off before I came close. While there was not a good solution to this problem, the second time I approached I had a scarf wrapped around my face and breathed out of my mouth. That time I made it to the door but was then too squeamish to push my way through the chickens hoping I had feed. The third time I grabbed some of their feed and threw it on the other side of their enclosure before I entered so none would brush against me, but then was too alarmed by the appearance of the unwashed eggs to even touch them. The fourth time I made sure my hands were covered by my oldest gloves that were already quite stained but failed to throw enough grain to keep them away from me and ended up abandoning my basket when only half filled inside. The fifth time I brought plenty of grain and managed to keep them distracted long enough to complete my mission.

My usual practice, once I had worked out all the particulars for collecting the eggs, was to take as many eggs as would fit in my basket and then escape into Pemberley's woods before throwing each egg as hard as I could against tree trunks at various distances. I knew it was wrong to do so but the desire was overwhelming and the relief I felt as each egg shattered was amazing. I never heard a word about it and thought my thefts were undetected.

However, on this occasion I had been so angry that I did not make it to the woods and instead threw them against my father's new carriage. I was angry at him and I wanted to punish him. I do not recall the exact incident I was angry about. My father was always trying to make me be who he wanted me to be as his heir, and I had learned that I could not oppose him without horrible consequences.

Edwin came across me as I threw the last egg or two.

"Fitz, what have you done?" he cried.

I hung my head in shame, "It was not me. I did not do it. I did not mean to. I am a bad person. I made a bad choice."

"Is it you who is behind the missing eggs? George said it must be you and that is what he has told your father."

"No, not me," I said, almost yelling even as I knew he knew what I had done. I did not want to get in trouble. Admitting it would get me in trouble.

"I think it is you," Edwin responded, stroking his hand through his sandy hair and looking away from me as he waited for me to answer.

I made no answer.

"I will help you clean it up," he offered, still not looking in my direction. "On a warm day like today, the eggs will be difficult to remove if they sit too long. Mr. Henry has been cleaning the saddles and I expect he has soapy water left."

I nodded but made no move to follow Edwin. I thought about what dried eggs would look like on the carriage. I wondered if they would be yellow and white like cooked eggs. Although I sometimes came across the shells of the eggs I had thrown in the woods, I usually did not see the yolk or white. Some forest creature must have eaten them.

Edwin returned a few minutes later with a large wooden bucket with soapy water and some rags. I half-heartedly cleaned, enjoying the splashing of dunking my rag in the bucket and getting wet rather than making much effort at all to clean the carriage. I was still angry at my father and as much as I feared punishment, I also longed for him to understand what he had done was wrong, for him to be punished by me. Edwin did all the strong scrubbing and when we were done the carriage gleamed in the sunlight.

"Well, there is nothing to tell your father now," he told me with a smile. "No more taking eggs and breaking them."

"No more," I agreed, intending to keep my promise, at least for a while.

A couple of days later, Edwin and I were coming back from a ride when I saw my father standing by the stable doors. He had a familiar look upon his face, and I knew what that look meant; he was angry. However, I was not sure what he could be angry about. I had completed my lessons and then gone for a ride with Edwin.

Before I had even dismounted, he was already yelling at me, "Of all the stupid things to do, Fitzwilliam, what were you thinking?"

As soon as I was off my horse, he pulled me by the arm until we were just outside the house. I noticed that Edwin had followed us.

My father pointed up at one of Pemberley's high windows and asked, "Fitzwilliam, what could you be thinking to throw an egg there up there?" I looked up and to my horror saw the large splatter of what must have been drying egg on the window. The edges of it were white, but it still glistened in the middle.

I said nothing. I had not done it, yet I knew my father would not believe me.

"Uncle George, I do not think he did it," Edwin offered. "I met him as he was leaving his lessons and then we went for the ride we were returning from when you met us. I think he knows better than to throw an egg at a window."

My father looked at me, apparently considering. His voice was softer when he said, "Eggs make a tremendous mess. This seems to be the sort of thing you would do, but perhaps, just perhaps, this time you are not to blame. I had better never see you with an egg unless you are eating it off your plate."

Looking back on that summer, with the wisdom of many more years, I believe that during that first time in the stable and many more times besides, Edwin talked to me as one might talk to a frightened horse: calm, even, soft, gentle. And like that frightened horse, he was also able to calm me, to make me feel safe.

Two years ago as we were riding to Rosing to visit Lady Catherine and Anne for an Easter visit, Edwin asked me about the incident when we were stopped at an inn for refreshments. I remember him asking, this time looking right at my eyes, "Fitz, do you remember when there were broken eggs on the windows as Pemberley?"

"Yes." I looked at him, but not quite in his eyes.

"Did you do it? I have long wondered." He scratched idly at his sideburn.

"No. It truly was not me that time; it must have been George."

"Well, that explains it." He gave a gentle nod. "I thought that if it was you, Fitz, that you would not have just stopped at one, save for if you were interrupted. I am glad to realize that my instincts were right. Even if I had believed that you did it, I would have acted the same. I did not want to see the punishment your father would inflict upon you for it.

"It is one thing for grown men to receive punishment for acting improperly, such as committing theft. I have seen plenty of punishments for things like that in the cavalry, even carried out some punishments myself, such as lashings, but it is not right for a father to treat a son that way when he cannot help his actions."

Later, when we set off on our journey again, Edwin and I were stuck behind a slow wagon for a bit. While we might have ridden around it, he said, "We are not in a hurry, we might as well walk the horses for a while; I should like to talk to you longer."

"Very well." The movement of the horse made me more amenable to listen to him.

"Unlike how your father was, Lady Catherine has never punished Anne for anything. She is a kind mother, much as your own mother was. Should you marry Anne, why Lady Catherine would always treat you well."

This was not the first time Edwin had endeavored to convince me to marry my cousin Anne. He continued, "Everyone expects it. The connections are excellent, it strengths family loyalty, you can live a safe and retiring life, the both of you, far away from the pressures of London for the perfectly acceptable reason of her health."

While Edwin's reasons all made sense and I had contemplated similar advantages to such a marriage, the main objection I raised to him was, "I have no wish to spend a protracted amount of time with Lady Catherine." And now, looking back it is glaringly obvious I should have considered that there was no love or even attraction between me and Anne. I did not know her well, though I understood her better than most.

"But don't you see," Edwin tried again to convince me, "Lady Catherine is another layer of protection for you both. Her domineering nature distracts others from paying unwarranted attention to you. I admit you have improved, but I doubt greatly whether you can ever be fully as you ought. There must be something off with the blood of my aunts to produce you and Cousin Anne, yes mayhap it is through our grandmother's line. Do you not see that it is your duty to purify the blood?"

I asked him, "Whatever do you mean?"

Edwin had no compunction in telling me: "It is your duty to your father, and to mine as well, to remove your defect from the family line by not producing any children. Anne is sickly and no one expects you to produce an heir with her. Having seen for myself your self restraint with my Sylvia, I believe you can keep yourself from her bed. But if mayhap you cannot, I doubt her body capable of carrying a babe. And if she did, I wager neither would survive. That is why I would first urge self restraint.

"While we both know a woman's purpose for being is to be the vessel for man's desires and produce his sons, God himself has sought to restrain her from being fruitful and multiplying and given you the means of doing your duty. Georgiana can carry on your family legacy; her husband can adopt the family name as a condition to the marriage. She is fond of my youngest brother, perhaps he could become a Darcy."

I remember feeling many emotions at once and being unable to name them I simply kneed my stallion and urged him fast around the wagon. I let the wind whistling over my body calm me as I tried to focus my mind on the map in my head. However, this was not enough to truly distract me.

During the rest of that ride, images of my possible future played before my mind. It felt dull, like saw dust. I wondered whether, perhaps Edwin was right, that this was the most proper future for me. I wondered if, perhaps, I deserved no better. However, still, I resisted all attempts on that trip and the one that followed to say anything that might encourage Lady Catherine to think that I might wed Anne.

I was hopeful that during this ride that I might avoid Edwin prodding me to marry Anne again. This was not a future I had any wish to consider, now that I had hope of something more. I worried that Edwin would attempt to interfere with my efforts to improve Miss Elizabeth's impression of me if he knew she was the object of my affections.

Georgiana and I exchanged only brief greetings with Edwin before she vanished into the carriage, the carriage horses began to pull it, and Edwin and I began riding at an easy pace by the carriage. With the rhythm of their hoofbeats, I resolved once again, "Do not tell him, do not tell him, do not tell him." which of course was short-hand for my vow not to reveal to Edwin by word or deed my intentions toward Miss Elizabeth until I secured her promise.

As my body moved up and down with my mount, I began daydreaming about seeing her and planning how it could come to pass. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth would take walks as she had at Netherfield and I could arrange to encounter her on during one. I imagined walking toward her, seeing her wearing her yellow gown, her face shaded by a matching bonnet, her lovely dark eyes seeking out mine. It was a thing of beauty to imagine her gently swaying form approaching me far away from Edwin's prying eyes, while I gently caressed her ribbon. In my fancy, I would be the farmer's son and she the pretty maid.


	20. Their Best Laid Plans

As we approached Rosings, Edwin and I riding our bay horses in front of the carriage, I saw a figure in the distance facing us. Somehow, I immediately correctly guessed who it would be in his bearing. The heavy-set man in the lane first waved his hand in a friendly greeting before stepping just out of the way and then bent down and remained in a deep bow. Anyone else would have fled far into the grass to try to avoid the dust our horses were kicking up as they galloped.

With a light and steady pressure on the reins, I slowed my horse gradually enough to not cause difficulties for those behind us. As my mount dropped from a gallop to a canter, Edwin quickly matched my declining speed and the carriages and other riders slowed down as well. Thus, we did not completely choke Mr. Collins with our dust, though he doubtless had much debris kicked up upon his clothing. After we passed him, I glanced over my shoulder and in that second or two saw he had pivoted toward us and straightened up; in seeing him it was most evident that it was indeed Mr. Collins.

Edwin pulled his horse up close to mine and asked, "Who was that buffoon? Only an idiot barely gets out of the way and waits to eat dirt."

"It is Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine's new parson. I have a passing acquaintance with him." I nudged my horse a little faster, feeling the increased roll of my bay's muscles as he complied. I was ready to be done with this conversation and get to Rosings.

I heard from the increased clopping gait of Edwin's horse that he had done likewise, although he was still a bit behind me. I heard his disembodied voice say, "Ah, I suppose we will see a lot of his bowing and scraping on this visit, then."

I made no response. It was not needed. My mind was elsewhere, moving down the lane with Mr. Collins towards the parsonage, wishing that I could go through his door and see Miss Elizabeth. But I knew I had to bide my time until at least the next day.

We arrived at Rosings at nigh a quarter past four. A servant, dressed in dark green (which apparently was the uniform color for the week), was waiting and immediately summoned others (also dressed in dark green) who collected the horses from us. While Georgiana and the other carriage occupants could enter the house, footmen began dabbing at each of the riders with a dampened cloth. I quickly snatched my assigned man's cloth away and finished up the task myself, but for permitting him to clean my boots. Only when we were deemed sufficiently clean, were we permitted inside.

Then we were each shown to our quarters by our assigned footmen, although in Edwin's and my case it was hardly necessary as we knew which rooms we would occupy per the usual arrangement. However, the familiar ritual of having my footman recite the same speech I heard year after year, was somewhat comforting. "I am to escort you to your room so that you may change and refresh yourself. Dinner will be served at half past six. Dress accordingly and be in the drawing-room no later than a quarter after six. If you wish to be sociable prior, Lady Catherine should be there until half past five."

We all did end up joining Lady Catherine and Cousin Anne before dinner, though I was the last to arrive in the drawing-room. As usual, Lady Catherine was dressed quite fine, on this day in a gown of the deepest blue, with a headdress that featured ostrich feathers, and a fine heavy topaz necklace. Anne's blonde hair was tangled, and she was wearing a high-necked pink gown with long sleeves, but I could see very little of it as she was covered with a thick navy colored blanket which appeared to be made from boiled wool. While the blanket cascaded to the floor, I could not see the outline of legs or feet, so I concluded she had them tucked up under her on her chair as she had long been wont to do. It was a bit odd to see a grown woman behave in such a way before company, but Anne seemed rather the same as always.

Lady Catherine declared upon my arrival, "Darcy, I am so glad you are all come. I am most pleased that dear Georgiana is visiting, too. It has been far too long! Rosings is a lonely place indeed when we have no guests. However, we have been enjoying the company of the Collinses and their visitors. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a prettyish sort but gives her opinions most decidedly for someone so young." Lady Catherine shook her head and twisted her lips; it was evident to me that she did not approve. Then she added, "However, I doubt we will need their company much, now that you all are come."

I did not like how dismissive she was of them, especially Miss Elizabeth, but supposed it was not all that surprising. Lady Catherine was forever saying, "It seems like any man who owns a bit of property fancies himself a true gentleman. However, there is a vast difference between people of rank and the rest. Although my husband and your father were untitled, the vast riches of Rosings and Pemberley rendered them almost as good as nobility."

I heard Georgiana ask Anne (who was just beside her), "Tell me, Anne, what are the Collinses and their guests like? Fitz is acquainted with them all from his time in Hertfordshire." My ears strained to hear her reply, uncertain if Anne would deign to reply or not.

Lady Catherine answered for her in a loud tone, far louder than Georgiana. She would have entirely drowned out any reply Anne might have attempted to make, but Anne's lips remained closed. "Anne likes Mrs. Collins. Her sister Miss Lucas is a shy little thing. I think Miss Bennet too lively and impertinent to be a friend to Anne. What a strange household she must have been raised in, one of five sisters and no governess! Letting children decide for themselves whether to learn or be idle, it is not to be borne, and to have all five out at once, unheard of!"

She looked at me and Edwin, waiting perhaps for us to agree with her. We were both silent.

So then Lady Catherine inquired, "Darcy, Fitzwilliam, what do you think of such a thing? Darcy, what was your impression of this family?" She paused, rather than answering for me.

All eyes turned toward me, and my own eyes immediately sought the window for some relief. I thought of what I could say that would neither insult nor defend them. "I would not raise children that way, but perhaps Mrs. Bennet does not know any better." I caught myself before I could say that Mrs. Bennet was the daughter of a country attorney. "Mr. Bennet is well read and respected in that hamlet. Miss Elizabeth does not seem to have suffered from any neglect in the improvement of her mind." I felt my comments were perhaps not exactly prudent. I wondered how Miss Elizabeth would feel if she heard them.

"Yes, you are right," Lady Catherine pronounced. "I am certain Anne agrees with you that children require a suitable governess to raise them. You are of one mind when it comes to matters of importance. She will make you a most suitable wife."

My eyes found Georgiana and then passed over her to look at Anne. She was fiddling with her blanket and did not seem to be paying attention to her mother or anyone else. But I knew that just because she was not looking, that did not mean she was not listening.

I looked over from Anne into the space between her and her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, while I tried to collect my thoughts. I knew I needed to muster words to counter Lady Catherine's declaration, for if I did not actively oppose Lady Catherine, she would take my silence as agreement.

Mrs. Jenkinson was an older woman whose once dark hair was now well threaded with white. I had known Mrs. Jenkinson for years as she had fulfilled many roles in Anne's life, first nurse, then governess and now companion. I imagined she would be with Anne until the day one of them died.

I remembered when Georgiana was a young child, taking her to see Anne. At first Georgiana was just beside me, but then was suddenly gone. I turned about and found her cowering against a wall and trembling. I was not quite sure what to do and, so, I took her by the hand, led her to Mother's chambers, turned the knob and brought her inside.

"Whatever is the matter?" Mother asked as Georgiana lept at her and was immediately enfolded in Mother's arms.

When Georgiana did not answer, Mother asked, "Fitz, what happened?"

I shook my head "no" and shrugged. "She was trying to hide behind me when we went to see Anne."

Mother pulled back a little from Georgiana and looked at her face. "Was Anne acting odd?" Mother gently stroked Georgiana's hair back from her face.

Georgiana shook her head in negation. Mother looked at me and I shrugged. I did not have the answer, either.

"Who else was there?" Mother asked me.

"Only Mrs. Jenkinson and a nursery maid," I replied.

Georgiana told mother and me, "She looks like a scary witch."

Mother began to laugh, "I never thought of it before, but you are correct, Georgiana. I shall never now not be able to see the resemblance. However, never say that in front of her. It would not be a kindness."

"What do you mean?" I asked. Mother proceeded to tell me, in exacting detail how it might hurt Mrs. Jenkinson's feelings if she thought we were demeaning her looks.

That memory was somehow meshing with the present. I had no wish to hurt Lady Catherine or Anne. I needed to correct my aunt without insulting my cousin.

However, oddly enough, back then I had not been asking about how the wrong words could hurt Mrs. Jenkinson. I was not so simple as to not know that. Instead I was wondering why Georgiana thought Mrs. Jenkinson looked like a witch.

I jostled my leg, waiting for Mother to finish as I knew it was rude to interrupt. I was also jostling my leg in the present, trying to let some of my anxiety give way.

I recalled I stilled my leg when Mother placed her hand upon it. "Now, now, Fitz, be easy." In the present I forced my leg to still also.

With my mother I explained, "That was not my question. How does Mrs. Jenkinson resemble a witch? Could not a witch look like any woman?"

In answer, Mother pulled out some illustrated books she was reading to Georgiana and flipped the page to a picture of a witch with a pointy nose and chin, and turned it upside down from herself as she thrust the bottom edge against me. I saw the resemblance then, and began to laugh, too.

In seeing Mrs. Jenkinson now, well she still looked like a witch, but now that she was older, she might also resemble a crone. Mrs. Jenkinson had a pointy, beak-like nose and very thin lips, surrounded with deep wrinkles and a noticeable jowl in her angular face. Today when she smiled, it looked lopsided, as if half of her face was partially frozen. It seemed to me that perhaps she was afflicted following an apoplectic fit. But I knew from our previous interactions that Mrs. Jenkinson was a kind woman who only wanted to be of use to Lady Catherine and Anne.

I pulled myself away from my jumbled thoughts and tried to focus on what I needed to do now. Already I had been silent too long and was allowing Lady Catherine's assumption that I would marry Anne, gain credence for lack of opposition.

I responded, "Anne and I have no understanding and would not suit, but she is dear to me as a cousin." I hoped this might strike an appropriate balance, be firm enough to dissuade Lady Catherine without hurting Anne. Although I had no real idea if Anne had any interest in marrying me, she might think it something that was inevitably going to happen based on all her mother had likely said about the matter over the years.

Lady Catherine leaned forward as if about to rise. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth tightly puckered and lines I had never seen before between her eyebrows suddenly emerged. I was not sure what that meant, but that whatever it meant it was not good. In other circumstances Edwin would have intervened, but on this topic, I could not expect any assistance.

Lady Catherine stood up from her high-backed chair, hands on her hips, as she had when I was younger and she was preparing to scold me, but before she could say anything, Georgiana intervened. "Lady Catherine, would it be possible to have time to practice the piano-forte? I am always trying to improve my performance."

As the string on a harp when plucked always plays the same note, we all knew what would follow Georgiana's request. Lady Catherine settled herself down, her face smoothed out and it was as if the previous expression had never existed. She placed all her attention on Georgiana and responded, "Now Georgiana, you must always be constantly practicing if you wish to achieve true proficiency. You cannot practice too much. You are very wise to bring it up so soon after arriving at Rosings."

Georgiana nodded and responded, "Yes, I wish to practice every day, but given our early start have not addressed an instrument yet today."

"That is very dedicated of you, Georgiana, just what I would have expected from your mother's daughter. Daughters are such a blessing; my Anne would have been just as diligent at practicing the pianoforte to achieve true proficiency if her health had allowed her to learn. How lovely it would have been to hear her play and how much we will enjoy it when you grace us with a performance. Music of all subjects is my delight and I am greatly desirous of hearing you. We might also discuss the great composers and perhaps I can suggest some new music for you to master. Yes, we must certainly do that." Lady Catherine was nodding, and I could not but think that she was agreeing with herself.

Lady Catherine added, "Georgiana, I think it would be wise if you start practicing now for what you will wish to play for us later. Though, given that you are likely tired from your journey, you need not provide the entertainment tonight. You may certainly practice upon the piano-forte in this room; it is the finest instrument in the house, likely in the whole of Kent. We shall endeavor not to pay it too much mind now, so that we might fully enjoy your performance later."

Georgiana, as I knew she would, asked, "Mrs. Jenkinson, might I use the instrument in your chambers instead?"

"Of course, Miss Darcy." Mrs. Jenkinson's speech was slightly odd, but understandable. I noticed that the weak side of her face was giving her trouble.

Georgiana hates to practice in front of certain people and Lady Catherine had long been one of that group since the first time thirteen-year-old Georgiana practiced in front of her at Pemberley. All was fine until Georgiana hit a wrong note. It was most evident that Georgiana knew of her error as she gave a little grimace just after doing it but proceeded on (it was in the chorus of the song and I knew that Georgiana would likely get it right on the next pass-through).

However, Lady Catherine felt the need to point out the error, loudly proclaiming, "That does not sound quite right." Perhaps it still might have been alright had Lady Catherine held her tongue afterward and just let Georgiana continue, but instead Lady Catherine got up, walked over to the piano-forte and declared in her most strident tone, "Stop, Georgiana, stop! You must go back to the beginning and do it right this time." Then she remained looking over Georgiana's shoulder. At that moment she looked like a vulture poised over a dying animal, ready to pick at it once it was gone.

Georgiana dutifully did as Lady Catherine instructed, but started making other mistakes under Lady Catherine's scrutiny. She got up abruptly and announced, "I am done. Please take me to Mother, Fitz."

At that time Mother was not well, but we still thought at that time it was only lingering grief from father's death, so I was in Georgiana's company much of the time beside meals and lessons which Mother still supervised. I dutifully escorted Georgiana back to Mother's rooms. Mother glanced at Georgiana's face and said, "Thank you, Fitz," before taking Georgiana inside and shutting me out.

I did not see Georgiana for several hours after that and when I did her nose was red as if she had been blowing it a lot. She confided to me then, "Oh Fitz, I cried and cried. I never want to practice in front of Lady Catherine again. Her advice is opposite to that of the master who instructs me. He says that I should continue to play if I make a mistake, for none are flawless, or if the trouble seems insurmountable, I should practice just the tricky part until I master it. Lady Catherine knows nothing of these matters, so why is she so convinced that she is right?"

Although the Georgiana of today was a little less sensitive than the one of yore, she still would never wish to rehearse in front of Lady Catherine. Once Georgiana was granted permission to use Mrs. Jenkinson's piano-forte, she asked in a gentle tone, "Anne, would you like to come with me?"

I saw Anne nod slightly and give a small smile. She slid her legs down and I saw that rather than slippers or shoes emerging from the edge of the blanket, that she merely had on white stockings.

Likely everyone but I was surprised at Georgiana's request. I was not surprised but pleased as I suspected that Georgiana had remembered a suggestion I had given her.

I was surprised that Anne agreed, but found it promising. I hoped Georgiana's overture might bear fruit and brighten Anne's life. The cousins and their companions departed together, leaving me and Edwin alone with Lady Catherine.

Upon their removal, fortunately my aunt found other topics to address besides my fictitious engagement to Anne. I feared, however, that my aunt would not so easily forget this topic and it was sure to be raised again soon.

Edwin curled his lips in a movement that was not quite a smile, raised one eyebrow and then appeared to soundlessly laugh before turning toward Lady Catherine and asking in a bland tone, "When do you think Darcy and Anne should marry?"

Lady Catherine smiled and declared, "Oh, in the late spring and early summer Anne's health is best and there are lovely flowers in bloom to decorate the church and Rosings. Yes, I insist upon that timing, a May or June wedding. I can arrange the loveliest set of suites, that the Earl and his wife usually occupy for your permanent residence, Darcy. It has a view of the rose gardens but also appropriate privacy for newlyweds."

I felt anger and some other unnamed emotions. _Why were they planning my life without me?_

"That does sound ideal," Edwin agreed, nodding. "At the wedding breakfast you can serve those delicate tarts that Anne and Darcy both like, but I suppose it is too early for fresh berries for the compote."

Lady Catherine snapped her fingers, causing a dark green uniformed servant to scamper hither. "Grant, fetch my writing supplies." Then she told Edwin, "There is much I need to write, to plan their nuptials." It was evident to me that Lady Catherine was completely ignoring the fact that I had already declared that I did not wish to marry Anne.

Then picking up where she had left the last exchange with Edwin, Lady Catherine continued, "While there may be no berries yet, it is true, I have sufficient preserves from Rosings's bounty last summer for my cook to make the desserts and there is time yet for elegant gowns for me, Anne and Georgiana to be ordered. I insist you all stay until the wedding. Oh, and Georgiana must spend the bulk of her time here at Rosings with us and perhaps be presented at court next season."

I felt my face grow warm, but my tongue would not speak. I felt ill. They were arranging all the details of both mine and Georgiana's life without us.

"That would be most suitable," Edwin agreed, completely ignoring my presence in the room, "You should handle Georgiana's presentation and coming out season while Fitzwilliam and Anne remain here and concentrate on begetting the next heir for Pemberley and Rosings."

Lady Catherine clapped her hands together and remained clasping them tight, "Oh, how delightful to plan her presentation, to see her curtsy before the queen. I only wish Anne's health had permitted her to do likewise, but I am most certainly the most proper person to stand in my sister's stead. Darcy cannot care about things like that. He will be far happier staying here in the country with Anne. I so do long to be a grandmother, to see my kin fill the halls of Rosings."

By this time the servant had arrived with Lady Catherine's supplies, which consisted of a dark wooden tray with compartments that he set across and hooked over the two arms of her chair. On her left side the compartments held quills, a pen knife and other supplies. On the right there was a single compartment which held her ink pot. In between was a large surface with a raised edge. It was evidently designed to keep the paper where it needed to say, and already contained a sheaf of paper. It was a clever arrangement and if not for my growing anger, I would have been interested in inspecting the writing tray further and perhaps finding out from whom to commission it's like.

I needed to say something, I knew with absolute certainty that I did, but I was having trouble speaking, could not put together the words at that moment. I had a desire, an itch, to communicate in another way, as I often had when I was younger.

I wished to flip Lady Catherine's tray, to see her ink pot hit the wall, to see it shatter and splatter black ink upon her wall, rug and floor. I wanted to see the paper scatter all over the room, to snap the quills and stomp on her tray. If I could do that, they would know how angry I was, and it would feel right in the moment. Afterwards I would feel better until I calmed a bit and the shame and self-recriminations set in.

I sat more heavily in my seat, willed my tensed legs which were ready to lift my body into standing to remain still. I pressed my palms firmly into my legs, did my best to master myself and tried to muster my words into some coherence.

It was clear to me that it was no good, but I had to do something before my pent-up rage (for that is what it was by now) exerted itself in a way that could not be taken back. I settled for the first word I could get my rubbery lips and thick tongue to say. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" I cried. I could feel my face flushing.

With my outburst, I could feel some of my anger leave me. I fought for and regained my control, standing up slowly. Then more words found my lips. "Madam, that is quite enough. I will not be Anne's bridegroom. You and Edwin can keep your plans in place, with him taking my place."

I did not await their response but fled to my chambers. Without a word to Jeffrey, my valet, who was putting my clothes in a dresser, I pulled back the covers of my bed and lay down. He paused what he was doing; this had occurred before and as a loyal and trusted servant for me for many years he knew just what to do. He pulled my boots off, lifted the covers over me and left silently. I snuggled deeper down the bed and raised the covers over my head. I lay that way until I felt myself again and then got back up and read in a chair until Jeffrey returned to help me dress for dinner.


	21. Finally, I Saw Her Again

The following day Mr. Collins called on us. First, he bowed very low and kept his bow for several agonizing seconds. Then he gradually rolled up before turning more exactly in my aunt's direction and then deeply bowing again. He then repeated this gesture to each of us, a bow for me, a bow for Georgiana, a bow for Edwin and finally a bow for Anne. I do not know if he did not notice Mrs. Annesley and Mrs. Jenkinson in the corner, where they were companionably chatting together over some embroidery, or thought them unworthy of such a show of respect.

Once he was done bowing, Lady Catherine gave a little sigh. "As I have told you before, Mr. Collins, we hardly need this level of courtesy before every visit begins. Did not I tell you, Mr. Collins, that you need not visit so often once my guests arrived?"

Mr. Collins bowed again and while he bowed said, "I am terribly sorry if I have disappointed you, Lady Catherine. I only live to serve." He straightened himself up and hesitated in sitting before Lady Catherine gestured to a seat well removed from her.

Once Mr. Collins sat, he addressed Lady Catherine again. "Oh, how fortunate I am to be welcomed into your magnificent abode, Lady Catherine, and to be able to greet your niece and nephews, so soon after their arrival. Mr. Darcy, how wonderful to see you again. This must be your sister, the enchanting, most musically gifted, Miss Darcy and your cousin, another nephew to my most beneficent patroness, whose reputation as a most noble Colonel in his Majesty's Cavalry naturally precedes you."

"How kind of you," Edwin responded. His words were right, but something seemed odd about his tone.

Mr. Collins continued on, "Of course, it is not really the first time I had the pleasure, at least for you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, as I was blessed to get a glance of you and Mr. Darcy the very moment you rode by me yesterday. While I did not see Miss Darcy inside her carriage," he gave her a little nod of acknowledgment, "I certainly did see its fine design with the Darcy crest. However, I might have missed all of this, had Lady Catherine not informed me that she anticipated your party would be arriving sometime in the afternoon yesterday. Therefore, I made it my business to watch for your horses and carriages out of my window in the parlor. I angled my chair to spy you at the earliest you might be visible, as I have quite a good view from there."

"And so, you just sat and waited for us?" Edwin asked. I could not decide exactly what his tone might mean.

"Why certainly. It was the most important event to occur for many a day! I was in such anticipation that I kept getting up from my seat. It was fortunate indeed for me that I was up when the first trace of your party showed as I was able to hurry out posthaste so as to pay you all," his eyes alighted on each of us individually, "the respect that close relations of Lady Catherine deserve." Mr. Collins paused in his monologue to take out his handkerchief. He began mopping his sweating brow (it was rather warm as is usual when Anne is attendance the fire is always built up).

"Mrs. Collins was so pleased to hear of your arrival, Mr. Darcy, although she did not see you just then as she was busy entertaining her sister and my cousin from our back parlor." Here I listened more intently, hoping to hear something more of Miss Elizabeth. But I was sorely disappointed as despite my careful attendance to his conversation, Mr. Collins made no further reference to her for the rest of his conversation.

Mr. Collins waxed long about how kind Lady Catherine was in seeing that the parsonage should be most appropriately fitted up for him and his wife, explaining, "I have only been married since January and Mrs. Collins has made me the happiest of men. She is everything a humble parson such as me should desire. Mrs. Collins was most pleased to hear of your arrival as I told her just as soon as I came back in from the lane."

Just then, a servant came in, bowed to Lady Catherine and announced, "Please forgive the interruption, but it is my understanding that you wished to consult with Cook about the meals and she has just come back now."

Lady Catherine rose quickly (so the rest of us men stood at once) and said, "I am sorry to be called away, but I am sure you shall wish to become better acquainted with my guests, Mr. Collins."

"That would be most lovely," Mr. Collins responded, giving her another deep bow which he held until Lady Catherine left the room. He sat down several moments after the rest of us, mopped at his brow again and then continued in his soliloquy.

"Although I wished to call on you, Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, that same day, Mrs. Collins informed me that you would need time to refresh yourselves and get settled and, wise woman that she is, suggested that I wait and call on you this morning. I had hoped our whole household might do so, but this morning Mrs. Collins was occupied with helping her sister practice her drawing." Mr. Collins gave a little grimace then which seemed pained, almost as if them not coming with him caused him a physical pain. Perhaps it did.

"I hope you will not mind if . . ." Mr. Collins did not wait for an answer before he removed his coat. I soon saw why he had done so as then it became evident how overheated he was as his shirt had deep stains of sweat around his arm pits. ". . . I would never presume if in the company of Lady Catherine, but it is rather warm in here."

Mr. Collins pulled his hands up by his shoulders and then flapped his arms a couple of times in a vague attempt to dry them. Without a coat, his bulging stomach was more in evidence, as confined to his waistcoat in a reddish shade of brown. I was suddenly struck by the fact that he resembled nothing so much as a chicken flapping her wings, with his stomach standing in as the hen's large breasts. He bobbled his head slightly, which only added to the effect. I had to press my lips tightly together to refrain from laughing.

Mr. Collins next words seemed almost entirely focused on me. He praised my condescension in writing to me, allowing that this generosity was more than he could ever deserve. He talked on and on. If I had thought his letters were overblown, Mr. Collins in person was still rather worse.

I was glad I had perfected a serious mien when I saw Edwin, who was just on the other side and slightly back from Mr. Collins, miming Mr. Collins. He opened his mouth widely and moved his mouth open and shut, trying to time the movement with Mr. Collins's words. Edwin exaggeratedly dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief and then bobbed his head like a chicken pecking at grain.

Beside me, I heard Georgiana give a very unladylike snot, which she did her best to stifle, trying to cover it up with an odd little cough. I took that moment to reach into my pocket and pull out a handkerchief, which I handed to her. She gave me a wide-eyed look before her eyes darted back to Edwin. Immediately she raised the handkerchief and placed it tightly over her mouth. It seemed that she was laughing again but was doing her best to silence it.

As it was not like her to laugh at anyone, no matter how ridiculous, I glanced over at Edwin again and saw him raise an arm, sniff at his armpit and then waive a handkerchief in front of it to pretend to cool it down before making his own chicken wings. Unlike Mr. Collins, Edwin waived his hands at his pits while flapping.

I had to bite at my lip to keep from laughing myself. I forced myself to stare at Mr. Collins to try to ignore Edwin. I genuinely tried to be good humored towards Mr. Collins despite the tediousness of his words as he had helped me. Finally, after a flurry of words, Mr. Collins rewarded my patience by giving me the opening I needed to see Miss Elizabeth.

He said, "Mrs. Collins hopes that at your earliest convenience, Mr. Darcy, should you be willing, that you would call upon us."

"I would be most pleased," I responded and felt that it was true. "Does the invitation extend to my sister and Fitzwilliam?"

"Certainly, certainly, it would be an honor to have any or all of you come to visit my humble abode."

"Oh, I should like to go, Brother," Georgiana enthused.

Edwin crooked his eyebrow and responded, "I should like to meet Mrs. Collins."

It was quickly decided that our whole visiting party should accompany Mr. Collins back to the parsonage to call upon the ladies. During this walk, Mr. Collins placed himself firmly beside me, leaving Georgiana to take Edwin's arm. This was not my preference as Mr. Collins droned on and on and if not for the fact that I was walking, I surely would have fallen asleep from the tedium. At least I did not have to see whatever Edwin was doing that made Georgiana laugh on more than one occasion.

Mr. Collins seemed content with just an occasional nod from me, which left me free to think about who we were going to see. I both dreaded and longed to look upon and speak to Miss Elizabeth once more, to be in her presence as a plant desires the sun.

When we were ushered into the sitting room, my eyes immediately alighted on her. Miss Elizabeth glanced at me and then quickly looked down. Therefore, I was free to look upon her without fear of getting caught up in her eyes. I noticed that her hair was less tamed than usual and one long strand was loose. I imagined it to be an oversight; perhaps her hair had hastily been done up when they realized we were arriving. That strand was long and wavy and fell over the front of her shoulder to below her bosom. I immediately tried to imagine how it would look if all of her hair was down. She was wearing a cream-colored morning gown and was as lovely as ever, but her face turned solemn when she looked at me. Instead of greeting me with words she quickly stood and curtseyed.

I dutifully did my duty to Mrs. Collins in complementing her home and introduced her, her sister and Miss Elizabeth to my cousin and sister. Miss Elizabeth greeted them but then was silent once more, which seemed very unlike her. _Would she remain silent our whole visit?_

Edwin as is typical of him immediately started conversing with the ladies, completely at ease, though I knew not what to say. I saw him try to use his charm on Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lucas and, oddly enough Miss Elizabeth said very little, almost as little as Miss Lucas. However, as they talked further she participated more. However, I occasionally saw her look over at me, even though by this time Mr. Collins was once again talking at me. I wondered what Miss Elizabeth could be thinking when she looked at me.

Finally, Mrs. Collins interjected, "Mr. Collins, I very much think that Colonel Fitzwilliam might like to see your gardens. I understand from Lady Catherine that you have lately resigned your commission and have an estate to manage. Have you ever been in charge of growing things before?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam owned that he had not.

I felt a moment of confusion as to why Colonel Fitzwilliam was being invited to see Mr. Collins's garden and I was not. I almost followed them out, but Mrs. Collins gestured for me to sit down, right next to the chair that Miss Elizabeth was occupying.

Grouped as we now were, I finally greeted just her, saying, "Miss Bennet, it is lovely to see you again." She nodded but made no reply. With such a reaction, I was uncertain as to how to continue. I tried to smile at her, hoping that would help, but by now she was not even looking at me, but glancing out the window.

I tried again, "I trust your family is all in good health,"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," she answered dully, adding after a moment, "no illness has afflicted them."

There was another pause and I wondered how to fill the silence. But then Miss Elizabeth turned toward me, looked into my eyes and said, with more feeling, "My sister Jane has been in town for the past two months. Had you never an opportunity to meet her there?"

I tried to hold Miss Elizabeth's eyes but was unable to do so. They were so intense, so searching, so impossibly aware of everything. It felt like she could see past my face into the innermost workings of my mind, but of course that was impossible. I felt my eyes drift up to examine the edge of her hair, to find the spot where the loose strand of hair connected to her scalp. My eyes, now focused, started studying how each strand laid and was arranged.

With difficulty, I pulled my awareness back from that and struggled to consider what she had asked. I was perplexed. _Had Bingley not made things clear that he no longer desired a possible connection to Miss Bennet? Had she tried to pursue him further?_

I told Miss Elizabeth, "I had not the pleasure."

She nodded slightly, turned her lips inward against each other and pressed them together for a moment before relaxing them into simply a closed mouth with little expression.

For something to ask, I asked, "How have you been enjoying your visit to Hunsford?"

Miss Elizabeth replied, "It is all that I was given to expect." After she finished that sentence, her lips closed and she said nothing more.

I noticed again the spot by her nose close to her lips where three freckles formed a triangle. I was not close enough to see whether those freckles all laid flat or whether any of them were slightly raised. I longed to trace that triangle with my finger to feel for myself how that skin felt and then to slide my finger across her closed lips and feel those slight creases and the dip between them, but I had no hope that she would ever let me do any such thing.

Part of me was wondering why I had come to Kent at all. The hope I had felt from Bingley telling me of her message was fading quickly. I was wondering what I was doing at the parsonage at all and wondering if I could or should avoid seeing her again. I felt that two people could hardly have less to say to one another than we had thus far.

Just then, Mrs. Collins said, "Mr. Darcy, I do not think you have ever been much acquainted with my sister, Maria. She has been working very hard to master the art of drawing. Come see the sketch she has made of me and Eliza."

I was grateful to be called away, but even as I went with Mrs. Collins to the far side of the room, I was still very aware of where Miss Elizabeth was and what she was doing. And, so, when Georgiana approached Miss Elizabeth, my ears heard her softly say, "Miss Elizabeth, I have been longing to make your acquaintance since my brother first mentioned you in his letters. He told me of your devotion in caring for your ill sister and that he missed you when you returned home."

It took all of my efforts to try not to look at them and instead continue walking toward the far side of the room. When I was shown Miss Lucas's drawings, I am sure I made all the appropriate comments, but afterwards had hardly a notion of what she had drawn, save for the last drawing that was of Mrs. Collins and Miss Elizabeth.

That drawing was not an accurate rendering. Mrs. Collins's eyes were too close together and her lips were too thin. Elizabeth's slightly curved nose was too pronounced and her neck was too long. However, Miss Lucas had managed to capture the shape of Miss Elizabeth's eyes if not all of their usual animation. I had a longing to have that drawing for myself, but it would not have been proper. Yet, here, I saw an opportunity to be able to visit the parsonage further, if there was any hope. Thus, I said, "Well done, Miss Lucas. Do you suppose you might draw my sister, should she prove agreeable with such a scheme?"

Miss Lucus blushed and nodded but said not a word.

By this time Edwin was back inside and already saying, "It has been a most pleasant visit, but I am afraid we must go."

Naturally I agreed and we said our goodbyes. As we did so, I found myself looking at Miss Elizabeth. I may not be very knowledgeable about what the face can reveal, but I felt no warmth from her, however, somehow Georgiana and even Edwin merited a bright smile from her.

Just before we went, Mrs. Collins asked, "Do you suppose Lady Catherine might spare you for tea with us, two days hence?"

Georgiana responded for us, "We shall have to check with Lady Catherine, but I certainly hope that we can do so, we shall certainly send word."

Finally, I thought we would be free of Mr. Collins, but it was not to be. Mr. Collins insisted, "I most certainly must see you safely back to Rosings." While we protested that we did not need his assistance, he would not be dissuaded.

Fortunately, Mr. Collins conversed with Edwin the whole way, asking all about his titled relations. I was most satisfied with this development as it allowed me to walk with Georgiana. Although she could not tell me of her conversation with Miss Elizabeth just then, she squeezed my arm and told me, "All will be well Brother."

When we returned our time was well occupied by Lady Catherine, but that afternoon Georgiana and I had time for a walk in the gardens. At first, we walked in relative silence but for the sounds of our steps upon the brick walkway (her steps barely noticeable but mine more clomping), the slight swish of her skirts against mine, the sounds of us breathing against the backdrop of birds singing and the horses and their handlers making their own sounds as they worked a distant field.

In the relative quiet away from most distractions, the chilled air not overly cold, the sun shining down upon us in the blue sky, I focused on the light pressure of her hand upon my arm. As always it felt comfortable and reassuring. How such a slip of a girl could help me relax and just feel at ease should have been astonishing, but instead it simply was. Georgiana had always just been my sister and simply accepted me as Mother had. Undoubtedly at some point in her life she had questioned why I was different, but I knew I was beloved to her as she was beloved to me. I felt no one could have a better sister.

The feel of Georgiana's hand on my arm felt very different from that of Miss Elizabeth's as I led her to the dance at Netherfield. It was not so much that its weight or pressure was different (if anything Miss Elizabeth held my arm more tentatively, resting it upon my arm rather than encircling it with her fingers), but what it meant, to have her with me.

When we were well away from the house, Georgiana paused so I did likewise. It was quite natural. We moved well together, and no words needed to be said.

Georgiana turned toward me, face suddenly animated, the young woman like a girl again, and told me, clasping her hands together and bouncing slightly, "Brother, I have been bursting to tell you! When we called, Miss Bennet discussed with me in detail when and where she takes her walks each morning. It seems the rest of the Collins household stays in bed rather later than she. It should be easy for us to arrange our own outing to encounter her in the morning."

I felt her excitement, felt my own face smiling in response but then I had a morose thought and felt my smile fade, combined with a sudden clenching feeling in my chest. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth was simply responding politely to questions Georgiana posed, or perhaps she only had an interest in furthering an acquaintance with Georgiana and not me.

I asked, "Did she tell you so that you may meet her?"

Georgiana responded, "I think she knew my purpose in asking her was to allow you both an opportunity to converse and she must not be adverse, or she would not have answered in such detail as she did." She placed her hand back upon my arm, but this time higher up, closer to my shoulder. It felt that she was trying to be reassuring but that she needed to do so was making my chest tight.

"Brother, I must tell you I think she seeks to resolve confusion about you and does not yet hold you in high regard. But having only spoken to her briefly I like her very much and think all may yet be resolved to your satisfaction."

"Thank you, Georgiana," I told her. I felt a jumble of emotions and then I felt tears briefly sting my eyes.

I had difficulty speaking and, when I forced out the words I needed to say, my voice sounded different, slightly higher and unfamiliar. I told her, "Georgiana, you are the best sister a fellow could ever have. I could never want for a better champion. Perhaps, with your help, all might yet be made right."

As we turned and walked back to the house, Georgiana held my arm just a bit tighter and periodically gave me three squeezes.

That night when I was in bed, I held Miss Elizabeth's ribbon. The exact yellow of her ribbon was fast becoming my favorite color.

I wrapped her ribbon around one of my fingers and then slid that finger against the back of my hand, imagining it was her hand as wrapped in a glove. Then I slid that finger up my arm, across my shoulder, up my neck and up my face, pausing at my cheek. The path of my ribbon clad finger seemed to pleasantly burn. Then, after an inward debate on the prudence of acting in such a way, I slid that finger across my own lips and imagined I was feeling Miss Elizabeth's lips on my finger, soft as that ribbon.

Although I wished to sleep with her ribbon and pondered placing it beneath my pillow where I could get at it in the night, I knew it would be folly to leave it where it might fall to the floor while I slumbered. I pondered placing the ribbon in a near drawer but suspected I would be tempted to get at it in the middle of the night. Therefore, when I unwrapped my finger, I got up and placed her ribbon safely within a handkerchief, making a little bed for it, and secreted it in a drawer across the room.

"Sleep well," I said aloud. I was not sure whether I was talking to the ribbon, personifying it, or whether I was talking to the maiden sleeping at the parsonage. As I drifted to sleep, I thought of Miss Elizabeth and hoped that I might meet her in my dreams.


	22. Meeting in the Morning

As arranged, Georgiana and I awoke early. It was not difficult for us as we are used to country hours, although I do not know that our servants appreciated having to arise then to dress us. However, no matter the hour Jeffrey was as efficient as ever and I even had a few minutes alone before I was due to join my sister.

I dismissed Jeffrey and, once he was gone, took that time to take out the yellow ribbon from its handkerchief bed and tell it, "Good morning, little ribbon. I am going to meet your mistress today." I took out my piece of string and measured it against the ribbon. Then I twisted the two together. I liked seeing the diagonal stripes this formed, brownish grey and yellow. It reminded me of a barber's pole, although of course the color combination and texture was wrong.

I could not but think that Miss Elizabeth's ribbon was, like the lady herself, much finer than my string. I should have put her ribbon away, but not wanting to part it from my string, placed them both deep down in my pocket and put the handkerchief, carefully folded, atop them.

Georgiana and I met for a quick bite of breakfast. Fortunately, Edwin was not present yet, nor did I expect him to be. He seems to prefer maintaining city hours now that he is retired from the army and, so, I thought there was little risk of interference or detection from him.

Minutes later, well wrapped against the morning chill (the servants awaited us with our appropriate garb), we set out together. Georgiana was wearing a long-sleeved blue dress, kid gloves and instead of a coat had opted for a lovely blue shawl with a lacy edge. The shawl was one my mother had knit for herself that, after Mother was gone, Georgiana had adopted as her own. I, myself had a coat and my warm beaver.

As we walked Georgiana suggested, "Now Brother, I know it may be awkward, but the best thing I think you can do is just be honest with Miss Bennet. I suggest you explain about George early on. While it is perhaps too early to familiarize her with all that makes you different, you must be clear that she must tell you what is on her mind rather than just assume you understand from her expressions, tone of voice and the like. Perhaps you can tell her, 'I am unused to guile and want there to be no confusion between us.' If things go well, there is ample time to help her understand you further. Likely this will require some adjustment on her part before she can absorb and cope with it all. Let her dictate the pace."

"How do I begin such a conversation?" I asked, remembering how long it took me to feel comfortable revealing anything to Bingley. "Yesterday it felt impossible to talk to Miss Elizabeth about anything. What if sharing even a part of who I am makes her feel poorly toward me?"

Georgiana held my arm a little firmer and squeezed my arm three times. "I cannot promise that she will accept you, but you cannot force such a thing. As much as it might hurt, if she cannot or will not, it is far better to know it now rather than later. I think it best if I am present for the first part of the conversation and I may remain for all of it if needed."

"Very well," I told her, "I shall trust you to facilitate our exchange. But if you think things are going well enough to let us talk without you, how will such a thing be arranged?"

She thought a moment and then responded, "I will say, 'Brother, I wish to collect some flowers.' It will then be up to you to consent if you see fit or tell me to delay until later."

"What flowers shall you find?" I asked, curious. "It is early for them yet."

"Never you fear, as we have been walking, I have already spotted a few. Not those that are cultivated, but ones that spring up where they will. I shall find some. It will not be merely an excuse." She paused and looked around, then pointed, "There, do you see, there are some snow drops."

I had not noticed them before, but there they were, small white flowers pointing down. I nodded and we were quiet after that. I used the time to think through Georgiana's suggestions and she did not try to get me to speak. She never seems to mind quiet between us, it is normal and restful and helps me to remain calm. It was well that I had that calm time as the moment I spotted Miss Elizabeth and what she was wearing, instantly my heart thumped widely in my chest and my mouth went dry.

Georgiana gave me one final piece of advice as we grew nearer, "Try to smile, brother. You will want her to know you are happy to see her."

Miss Elizabeth Bennet waited in a semi secluded spot ringed by overarching trees. Although she was well covered by a coat, beneath it I could see she was wearing the yellow gown I had acquired the small length of ribbon from. I couldn't help but notice she had replaced her bottom ribbon near her hem with a ribbon which was not the exact shade of its fellows, though I doubt anyone but me would have known. I reached my hand in my pocket and for a moment stroked my twine and her ribbon where I had left them intertwined.

She greeted Georgiana warmly and they had a brief exchange before she looked at me at all. Then she merely offered me an even, "Good morning Mr. Darcy."

Remembering Georgiana's advice, I forced a smile even though I felt awkward. I could not help but notice that she did not give me a smile in return. "I am glad you are here, Miss Bennet, and I hope we did not intrude upon your solitude. I was given to understand by my sister that you likely understood what she hoped to arrange but could not speak openly about in front of the others."

"Indeed!" Miss Elizabeth's lips twitched upward before she turned to my sister and said, "Miss Darcy, thank you for arranging it all with so little trouble to me." She turned back to me and waited.

I cleared my throat and began, "I am prepared to answer any questions you may have to the best of my ability, but before you begin I ask that you tell me anything you expect I would know from your expression or tone of voice. I am unskilled at understanding these and I do not wish for any misunderstanding between us."

Miss Elizabeth inclined her head and then followed that with a "Yes. I will do all I can to confirm we understand each other." With no other prelude she then asked, "Can you tell me why you and his sisters called Mr. Bingley away from my sister Jane twice and why his sisters then shunned her when she tried to call upon them in London? I know that through your combined efforts you have been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister."

I was momentarily flummoxed. I expecting to explain about Wickham's behavior towards me and not mine towards Bingley and Miss Bennet. Georgiana gently squeezed my arm and I felt myself relax a little. I took a deep breath and began to explain.

"I have not called Bingley away from your sister—"

"Oh, I see, I have worded that badly and given you an opportunity to be honest in your denial by using an inexact word. Do you deny you have been the means of separating them, whether by urging, entreaty, persuasion, delaying, influence or any other means? Have I made my question clear? Now there is no room for a denial!"

The pitch of Miss Elizabeth's words was different than I was used to hearing from her, perhaps a bit higher, and her words had grown louder. She stood ramrod straight, her hands upon her waist with her elbows out to the sides. She stared at me unblinking and I was quickly forced to look above her eyes at her bonnet. I noted that it was decorated with the same shade of ribbon as the replacement strand upon her dress.

She then added, while pointing at me (the movement causing me to focus upon her finger), "Mr. Darcy, you dare not, you cannot deny you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other, of exposing one to the world for caprice and instability, the other to its derision for disappointed hopes, and involving them both in misery of the acutest kind." With each phrase, she poked her finger toward me. While she spoke her accusations, I was busy putting together the clues I had to conclude that she was angry; I felt a certain satisfaction in figuring it out, even though she had not told me. I could not help but find her even more lovely in her anger, but wished it was not directed at me!

I held my arms stiffly at my side, fearing that I might clench them into fists or point my fingers back at her or shout. I felt angry myself, that she was accusing me unjustly. I felt overwhelmed by her vitriol but did my best to calm myself. I took a few moments to breathe and relax (easier tried than done). Georgiana helped by lightly stroking my arm. My arms, which were stiff and straight, began to relax. I tried to remind myself that I had a defense and, hopefully, if I could explain myself, Miss Elizabeth might come to accept that things were not as she believed them to be.

I walked a ring around Miss Elizabeth with Georgiana by my side before I finally felt I might be able to talk once more. I paused from walking and tried to begin again. I forced myself to talk slowly and try to maintain an even tone, but even so I might have been talking too quickly and too loudly. "As I have said before I will explain all, but I ask that you reserve judgment until you know the whole of it. Bingley was called away to London on business in November and had every intention of returning, but his sisters decided to close up the house and follow him there. I could not remain behind so to London I accompanied them."

Without my conscious volition, I began walking again, this time in a slightly wider ring around her. I continued to walk as I talked, and she kept turning in a tight circle herself to keep me in view. "A few days thereafter I received a letter from your cousin Mr. Collins reciting all matter of rumors concerning me, including one against both Bingley and I perpetuated by his Bennet cousins. I read the letter to Bingley and while we agreed that it was unlikely that either you or Miss Bennet perpetuated such a rumor, he was distressed that your sister had not put a stop to it, at least with your younger sisters. Bingley asked me my opinion about whether your sister had any regard for him. I told him I had not noticed any but clarified I was not the best judge of things and had been distracted by another Miss Bennet."

I paused from walking and smiled at her, but without any positive response my smile quickly faded away. Now Miss Elizabeth had her arms folded across her chest and her brows were drawn together; even I knew this was not a positive sign. Still, I knew I had to continue. I began walking again and then the words flowed once more.

"Bingley applied to his sisters about their opinions. They were decidedly opposed to such an association as being unworthy of him and that might have been the end of it. However, a few days later Bingley declared to me his decision to return to Netherfield to investigate your sister's regard and the gossip concerning me. I expected him to write and inform me of his engagement or at the very least that he had entered a courtship with your sister, but no letter did he write. I heard nothing further until he returned and met with me after Christmas."

Her brow relaxed a little and her arms loosened a bit. I felt myself calm and slowed in my walking.

"At that time, Bingley was decided in his resolution to have no further association with your sister. It seems Miss Bennet disapproved of his friendship to me and that resolved him against her. Thus, in that way I am indeed the cause of their separation. However, he did not ask me what he should do. So, indeed, others may think him fickle, capricious or indecisive, yet he is none of these. I do not know if he told your sister why he was leaving once again. As they had no understanding, perhaps he believed his leaving so soon after these discussions would be enough to show his feelings on the subject. He could hardly declare himself no longer interested."

When I was silent, suddenly Miss Elizabeth threw up her hands and exclaimed, "This cannot be so!" Her face reddened and her eyes grew wide. "Mr. Bingley's interest in Jane was most evident and clear. _Someone_ must have persuaded him against her."

I tried to remain calm, to be the voice of reason, but it was hard. "As far as I know, it was only Bingley _himself_ that could have done it and not any other. His sisters did not want him to return to Netherfield but that was a decision he made himself. As for what may have transpired after Bingley left Hertfordshire that second time, I know nothing of your sister being in London. I suspect if Bingley told his sisters that he had no further interest in Miss Bennet that they would have avoided her calls. He may indeed be in misery of the acutest kind, but it is because your sister turned out to be a different sort of person than he believed her to be rather than because of any action I took."

"Jane is everything good and kind," Miss Elizabeth declared emphatically, "Either you are attempting to deceive me or perhaps there is some further misunderstanding."

I shook my head in negation. I felt confused. _Why was she determined not to believe me?_ "I cannot say what Miss Bennet's character may truly be, but I have shared everything honestly," I responded, hoping the truth would be enough. We were at an impasse then and I knew not what else to say that might convince her.

Fortunately, then Georgiana intervened, her voice gentle and calm. She halted me from walking and then dropped my arm and walked closer to Miss Elizabeth. Georgiana lightly touched her on the arm and Miss Elizabeth looked up at her. They were perhaps a mere half a yard apart. I envied their closeness.

Georgiana told her, "I cannot speak to Miss Bennet's actions but for what Mr. Bingley's sisters told me regarding a young unnamed woman who may be your sister. A few days before we departed, I called on Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, accompanied by my companion, to tell them of our trip. They are understanding of my brother, so although they are not my bosom friends, I extend them every courtesy. While we visited, I heard the butler declare them not at home to a caller. As this was rather unusual, I questioned it of course."

As a spectator watching, I saw that they were looking right at one another's eyes. Miss Elizabeth was slightly nodding and allowing Georgiana to continue on.

"Miss Bingley told me, 'That must be the country miss that was interested in Charles. She has already called twice and is making quite a nuisance of herself.'

"Mrs. Hurst added, 'The first time she called, even knowing that Charles wanted nothing more to do with her, we had to, for politeness's sake, let her come in but managed to cut short her visit by feigning we were ourselves going out.'

"Miss Bingley seemed quite exasperated and told me, 'But she would not give up so easily. Oh, no, she was most determined, obstinately so. The second time she called we already had a caller so, naturally, we had to let her call as well and she spent the whole-time making inquiries about Charles rather than taking more than a superficial interest in us. As you can imagine by then we had quite enough and had to tell our butler that if she called again, we are never more at home to her.'"

"That certainly sounds like them," Miss Elizabeth responded. "They acted as if they had regard for my sister until they feared she would marry their brother. Do you know that Miss Bingley wrote to my sister and hinted that he was to marry you, Miss Darcy? Naturally that is a ridiculous thought, not that you are not everything pleasing but, I conclude that you are rather young for marriage."

"Quite right," Georgiana nodded. "I am not yet out. But there is more to tell you. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst explained _their_ brother declared he wanted nothing to do with anyone who could not value _my_ brother. So, while they once thought her sweet and enjoyed her company, they had no interest in furthering the association. You see, many have been cruel to my brother because he is different and Bingley is rather protective of him as if Fitz were his own brother."

While Georgiana was speaking, I saw Miss Elizabeth go from standing tall and straight to gradually sinking down a bit, as if what Georgiana was telling her was gradually weighing her down. When Georgiana concluded, she gave Miss Elizabeth a comforting pat on the arm. I envied that my sister could touch Miss Elizabeth whereas a similar gesture from me would have been completely untoward.

I wondered what Miss Elizabeth thought of Bingley, who was younger, shorter and of less importance to society, standing in the role of protector for me, but I could not interpret the look that crossed her face.

"I must think on this some more," she said in a tired, uninterested tone, turning to look at first Georgiana before nodding slightly to me and starting to stride away towards the parsonage.

"Should we meet again tomorrow?" Georgiana asked, calling out a little louder than usual to be heard as she walked away.

I faintly heard, "I do not know."

I was left confused. Had Miss Elizabeth believed us, or did she still believe me to be the cause of or only a mere catalyst for her sister's misery? I did not know, yet even in her anger she still appeared to be the most handsome woman of my acquaintance. I watched sadly as she faded from my view.

Georgiana consoled me. "Brother, there is still so much Miss Bennet will need to know before she will understand, but I think we have taken a good step today. She is probably miserable about misjudging you, Bingley and her sister."

"Perhaps," was my only response. I wondered if she would always be walking away from me. My sister was kind enough that while we walked back she let me have the silence I craved. As soon as were we inside the mansion, I excused myself and quickly walked back to my room myself. There, in the silence, I closed the curtains making the room dark and soothing. Then I removed my hat and tried without success to pull my boots off. I did not even bother to try to remove my coat; it was not so very warm in my chamber as the fire was out. I lay face down on the bed diagonally, the toes of my boots hanging off the side, closed my eyes and let the darkness cover me.

Despite my sister's reassurance, I did not know how it could get any better. After I while I took my string and her ribbon out of my pocket. I separated the two strands and placed the ribbon well away from my string (which I returned to my pocket), tucking it back in its handkerchief bed.

Later, as I felt the time ticking away, I determined I would have to get up or I would be missed. I called for Jeffrey and he helped me out of my outer coat, polished my boots, and retied my cravat. When I was put to rights as well as he could manage, I got up and interacted with the rest of the household. I tried my best to seem cheerful even though I was feeling miserable inside.


	23. Trying Again

I awoke the next morning, surprised I remembered no bad dreams. I only remembered a bit of one dream. In it there was a small child with dark curly hair that was in my care. He or she, it could have been either for the child was wearing a white gown and if a boy was too young to be breached though I felt it was a girl child, lifted up her arms to me to indicate she wished to be picked up. I was bending down to do so and noticed that on the child's wrist was a bracelet formed from a yellow ribbon and brown-grey string somehow tied or knit together. In the dream this caused me no surprise. I lifted the child up and she grasped me tightly, leaning her tired head on my shoulder and then there was a slurp, slurp sound as her mouth found her thumb. I swayed with her as she fell asleep.

I awoke slowly, feeling peaceful. It was early and dark outside. Jeffrey had not come to rouse me yet. I considered trying to sleep more and trying to regain the dream. However, instead, I got out my string and her ribbon and tried to recreate the bracelet I had seen on the child. But with each hopeless effort, it was harder to call up the model from my dream and finally I gave up. In the end, I settled for simply twisting them together as I had before and knotting the ends together.

I hesitated then as to what to do with the entwined ribbon and string. I never went anywhere without my string, but things had not gone well the previous time I carried them together. I decided to untie the knot and was already working on it with my fingernails, when I heard Jeffrey knock. That decided me as I quickly jumped up and thrust the band deep in the pocket of the coat I planned to wear. I was still pulling my hand out when Jeffrey entered.

Jeffrey shaved me and helped me to dress. When I was ready, he noticed the handkerchief on my bed and handed it to me. I folded it up and placed it in my pocket.

As arranged, I met Georgiana in the rose gardens just after we had dressed. She was dressed in a pale green gown and wearing a thick coat. She had a basket on her arm.

I told her, "I am uncertain as to what I might do to improve Miss Elizabeth's opinion of me. I do not know how to make her believe me. I have been thinking about the matter and loving you as I do, I would disbelieve anyone who might even hint at you being deficient in some way."

She told me, "Brother, I cannot help but think that having some time to sort the matter out that she might be more willing to listen today."

"But will she even come to meet us?" I sought reassurance, I did not think I could bear approaching that same clearing and finding it empty.

Georgiana moved closer to me and grabbed my arm. She looked up at me and declared, "We cannot know without trying. Perhaps Miss Bennet will be there, perhaps she will not. I have prepared for her to come, today I even thought to bring my basket."

"Your basket?" I was confused.

"Yes," Georgiana explained, "so that I might have a place to gather the flowers. The ones I shall seek out so that the two of you may talk alone."

"I do not see why you need a basket when she may not even meet us today," I told her.

"I need it because I am confident. However, even if Miss Elizabeth is absent, she might be there the next day. And even if she does not appear there again, we will at least see her later today when we take tea with Mrs. Collins. Perhaps you can carry my basket for me, and it will impart the confidence you lack."

I took the basket willingly from my sister after she held it out to me, even though the basket was very feminine in design with a large pink ribbon wrapped around the handle and a bow on either side.

I was impressed by my sister's determination. I was not sure that I could match her fortitude.

Georgiana tilted her head to one side, smiled up at me and said, "You make a pretty picture carrying my basket. Surely even Miss Elizabeth will soften in seeing how well you care for your favorite sister."

I felt my lips turn up and my mood improve. This was a repeated joke between us. I would call her "my favorite sister" and she would object and say, "but I am your only sister." Then I would respond with some variation of the following to prove that my only sister could be my favorite sister: "our mother had but one sister and she was not her favorite" or "Bingley has two sisters and both are his least favorite" or "God but gave me one sister so she would have to be my favorite."

Georgiana also insisted on calling me, "my favorite brother." We had different variations for that joke, too. I enjoyed all the permutations but also hearing the exact same versions as many times as they were offered.

I think this makes me different from other people. They like variety and I crave sameness. I am always happy to tell and hear the same jokes again, read the same books, see the same performances and so on. Familiarity and knowing in advance what to expect grounds me and relieves my anxiety, so by renewing our joke Georgiana was doing her best to comfort and reassure me, like she does when she sees that I am discomforted and turns the conversation to maps.

We were getting close to where we had met Miss Elizabeth before when Georgiana said, "I think I should take the basket now. It occurs to me that it looks a little odd for a man to be carrying an empty basket with a pink bow. Now if it were filled with something heavy it might be gallant, but as it is, it might be too silly for her to see."

"Nonsense," I grinned at her, "I must do my best to care for my favorite sister. The basket may be light, but it is my duty to save you from any exertion if I may."

"Ah, well, it is a very becoming basket and I can admire it much better when my brother is carrying it," she joked.

Our levity evaporated when we saw Miss Elizabeth. It was gone, as quick as a candle is blown out, and we fell silent. I handed the basket back to my sister, who quickly set it on the ground before walking toward Miss Elizabeth.

Miss Elizabeth's face was stained with drying tears and she was twisting a sodden handkerchief with her hands (whether in distress, whether just to have something to do, or whether in the hope that she might wring some of the tears out, I did not know). When she saw us, she looked at Georgiana and pulled the edges of her lips up but showed no teeth. I had never seen her smile thusly before and judged it to not be a genuine smile.

Miss Elizabeth said, "Good morning Miss Darcy," paused a moment and then her eyes flickered in my direction and she quickly added, "and to you, Mr. Darcy" before her eyes alighted once again on my sister.

Before I could even respond Miss Elizabeth began directing her words at Georgiana as if I were not present, saying "Miss Darcy, I have been reflecting on my conversations with Jane and reviewing the letters she sent. I believe it is my fault that things ended the way they did between her and Mr. Bingley."

While I had no particular expectation about what Miss Elizabeth would say, and had only hoped that her tears were a good sign, I did not expect her to shift the blame for the ending of Miss Bennet's and Bingley's relationship from me to herself. I found myself very much a bystander as I stayed back and Miss Elizabeth continued to address my sister and not me.

She continued, "Miss Darcy, I understand now that I was too quick to believe Mr. Wickham and what he said about Mr. Darcy. I do not doubt now, that he told me a great many falsities which I was only to eager to believe. Mr. Wickham's words to me about you have already been proven false. He claimed you were et up with pride, but I see no excessive pride with you. He must have been speaking falsely when he declared that your brother was simple and relied on him to complete his schoolwork and likewise when he stated Mr. Darcy was jealous of the love your father bore for Mr. Wickham and out of spite and revenge took away Mr. Wickham's inheritance."

Miss Elizabeth looked down, a slight blush upon her face. "I knew better, having been in company with Mr. Darcy at Netherfield, as Mr. Bingley's guest when my sister took ill there. But I relied on Mr. Wickham's opinion when I touted the dangers too close an association with Mr. Darcy would cause Mr. Bingley. I should have listened to my sister, that is the irony in all of this."

Georgiana drew closer to her and said gently, "All of us make mistakes, sometimes." I wondered if she was recalling almost eloping with George Wickham.

Miss Elizabeth shook her head back in forth, as if saying, "No" and then began recounting her discussion with her sister. As she spoke, I could imagine the conversation between the sisters.

"You see, Miss Darcy, Jane said to me, repeatedly things like, 'I am certain that Mr. Wickham, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy are all good men.'

"But I did not believe her. I was resolved that of the three of them, Mr. Darcy was not to be trusted. I justified my opinion by saying things like, 'I am not so certain about Mr. Darcy as he made clear his distain for the people of Meryton.'

"Jane as always tried to correct me. She replied, 'Lizzy, how can you say such a thing. Why we barely know Mr. Darcy at all, but Mr. Bingley and his sisters clearly value him.'

"I discounted her reasoning, telling Jane, 'Mr. Bingley is too amiable to see Mr. Darcy clearly; perhaps by him returning alone he is showing that he has realized he, too, was mistaken about Mr. Darcy's character.' I am responsible for what has come to pass. She reaped what I sowed."

Miss Elizabeth said, "I should not have maligned your brother, Miss Darcy. I was resentful and bore a grudge against him. I wished to pay Mr. Darcy back ten-fold for a comment he made about me at an assembly. It suited my purposes to think that he was unworthy of me, but one incident alone cannot justify my poor opinion of him and why I was ready to believe Mr. Wickham."

I felt my face flush remembering my comment to Bingley at the assembly, but I said nothing as I felt a mere observer to an intimate conversation between my sister and Miss Elizabeth. It was as if they had forgotten I was even there.

Georgiana moved closer to Miss Elizabeth and told her, "Miss Elizabeth, I will forgive you for any past offense against my brother if you will only attempt to set aside any resentments now and learn who he really is. As for Mr. Wickham, he is a practiced deceiver and has taken in many. My brother always saw him as he was because Mr. Wickham treated him with cruelty from their childhood, but I never knew of that as Brother sought to protect me. I was myself deceived when Mr. Wickham renewed our acquaintance and persuaded me that we were in love and should marry."

Georgiana then related the entirety of what occurred at Ramsgate to Miss Elizabeth. She told her about how she accepted George's proposal with Mrs. Younge's encouragement. She told her about the planned elopement, my unexpected visit and the revelation about George's true character. She told her, "George told me a similar lie about my brother cheating him out of his inheritance, when the truth was that Brother paid him for the living; George bartered away his inheritance and spent his bequest and the value of the living by becoming a spendthrift." This was the version I had given Georgiana rather than tell her about all George's exploits with paid women, gambling and dissipate living.

Finally, Georgiana told Miss Elizabeth, "I wish I could just forget him, but losing George Wickham, even knowing that he would not make a good husband, has not been enough to keep me from still feeling a lasting sadness that is all tied up in my mother's death, for I was still suffering (and suffer still) when he came back into my life and offered me hope for the future."

I had understood something of why my sister had accepted George, but to have her lay it all out before a woman who she had only met twice, who had no association with her except for an acquaintance with me (and the Bingleys), well it showed a kind of bravery that astounded me. I knew it was all done as a service to me, with trust that I had chosen well in selecting Miss Elizabeth for my affection.

I felt then that I could not have loved my sister more. Miss Elizabeth might think her sister to be everything good and kind, but my sister truly was that.

Miss Elizabeth could have condemned my sister's actions then, but if she had she would not be the woman I hoped she was. Instead, Miss Elizabeth said, "Miss Darcy, you are so young to have already suffered the loss of both of your parents. I am sure your actions were very out of character; you cannot be to blame. I cannot imagine that kind of grief, but yet there are many possibilities for a happier future."

Georgiana owned, "Perhaps you are right, but I do not know quite how to go about changing how I feel. Perhaps I could benefit from having someone like you as a friend."

"You have my friendship if you want it, Miss Darcy." Miss Elizabeth held her eyes. "I would be honored if you would accept it, knowing all the ugliness within me."

"I would, if you could accept the same in me." Georgiana responded.

"Of course," Miss Elizabeth nodded.

Georgiana reached out toward Miss Elizabeth and then they held each other's gloved hands. Georgiana clasped her right hand over Miss Elizabeth's mostly closed left hand, which still held her wet handkerchief, while Georgiana's left hand pressed into the cradle formed by Miss Elizabeth's upturned right hand.

In response, Miss Elizabeth gave a tight smile which was almost immediately matched by my sister. Then Miss Elizabeth added, "But if you are my friend, Miss Darcy, perhaps you might offer me some advice and be more clear-headed than me. Have you any ideas as to what I can now do for my sister Jane? I have not been the sister that she needed."

I saw Georgiana squeeze Miss Elizabeth's hands tighter, her kid gloves straining with how much she was bending them, but she said nothing. As she might have with me, she simply offered tangible reassurance and waited.

Miss Elizabeth looked anguished as she elaborated on her fault, "It is I who persuaded Jane, the kindest woman who ever lived, against her better instincts that Mr. Darcy must be the man who Mr. Wickham said he was. It was I who told her that Mr. Bingley must be blinded by his generous nature."

Georgiana released Miss Elizabeth's left hand, turned half toward me and with her now free right hand beckoned me closer. Naturally I obeyed my sister's motion.

When I was perhaps a yard away, Georgiana asked me, "Brother, can you write to Mr. Bingley and tell him that Miss Elizabeth believes she unduly influenced her sister to think badly of you and that Miss Bennet is not to blame?"

Suddenly two sets of eyes were focused on me, waiting. I responded, "I can and will, but it may not alter anything."

I let my eyes drift upward, to not be distracted, but I could still half see Georgiana's familiar blue eyes and Miss Elizabeth's lovely dark eyes still staring at me. I told them both, "I have often seen Bingley in love before and it has not lasted. I think he is too quick to fancy himself in love based on a pretty face and amiable manners without knowing a young miss well."

I considered a few moments before adding, more to Miss Elizabeth, "I suspect from how Bingley spoke of her that he felt something deeper for Miss Bennet. His sisters tried to persuade him to stay in London since by then it was very close to Christmas, but he was adamant that he did not wish to lose a chance at love. But the man who returned did not feel the same and it has now been some months since then." I wondered if I, too, was too quick to fall in love without knowing Miss Elizabeth well.

Miss Elizabeth's eyes grew wetter and then a single tear forced its way out from her left eye, soon joined by one from the right, until she was crying in earnest. "What if it is too late?" she seemed to ask no one in particular.

Although Miss Elizabeth still clutched her wet, crumpled handkerchief in her left hand, I could not imagine that it would be good for anything now. Finally, there was something I could do for her whose success would not depend on others.

I pulled out my handkerchief to offer it to her, stretching out my arm rather than coming too close. As she reached out to take it, I saw a flash of something falling. Before I could even react, she sniffed and bent down, her right gloved hand reaching toward something.

I saw a bit of yellow and suddenly I knew what it was that had ended up on the ground, half concealed by some rotting fall leaves a top a bed of moss. I saw Miss Elizabeth's gloved fingers pinch together around something. Then her back straightened as she lifted up, bringing the object back with her. She twisted and cast her wet hanky upon a log behind her and then dropped the object in her now empty outstretched left gloved hand.

At the same time as her, I got a good look at what she had retrieved. It was the entwined loop of my twine and her ribbon, which I should have left in my room rather than taken with me. I felt my face flush. Her tears were temporarily stilled. Her head was tilted slightly down and to the side as she examined the symbol of all my hopes that might never come to be.


	24. Georgiana Gathers Flowers

While I waited to see how Miss Elizabeth would react to my treasures, I felt a curious churning sensation in my belly and a tightness in my chest. She absently took my offered hanky with her right hand and wiped beneath her eyes, still bent forward studying what her left hand held.

Then she looked up and said in a soft, uneven tone, "I don't remember giving you a token." Her tears had stopped. For the first time since greeting us that morning, I felt I was now her focus but that was not exactly pleasant. It was as if I were a butterfly, pinned to a board, still alive but unable to get loose.

I did not say a word; I did not know what to say and was afraid of saying something that would make it worse. Miss Elizabeth studied me as if trying to decide something; I forced myself not to look away. Her eyebrows raised and lowered, she pursed her lips, flattened them again and then lightly bit her lower lip, her nose twitched, and she rubbed at her right temple with my handkerchief. I did not know what any of these things meant. But then she smiled at me and finally I had hope.

I knew then just what to say. I would play the gallant. "Miss Elizabeth, your token was claimed by a thorn. Believing it unworthy to keep your ribbon I liberated it, but I shall return it if you wish."

There was a moment of silence before she asked, tilting her head slightly to one side, "And the string?"

I tried to decipher her movement and tone. I dearly hoped she was not about to make merry at my expense.

I answered, "It is merely something I have been fond of since childhood."

"An unusual choice." Her voice was a slightly higher tone at the end, not quite high enough to mean she was asking a question, but not simply a statement either. I was not sure what that meant, but I hoped that rather than judgment it might be curiosity.

"Yes," I paused and hoping it was right to do so asked, "would you like to hear about it?"

"Yes, I would." She nodded, her head bobbing up and down thrice. "I have a feeling it intersects with Mr. Wickham's tales. I want to know the truth."

Georgiana walked up to me and gave my arm a gentle squeeze and smiled her normal Georgiana smile. It was a nice smile that showed some teeth and I knew it was a real smile as her ears rose at the same time as her lips. When it was just a polite smile, her ears did not move at all. "Brother, I should like to gather flowers."

In that moment, those words were the best ones anyone could have told me. Her signal told me she thought all was well and I could tell Miss Bennet what she needed to know.

"Certainly," I told her, smiling back at her. I exhaled, feeling some relief, a loosening of the tightness across my chest. I watched Georgiana as she picked up the basket and walked perhaps twenty feet away before she bent down to retrieve something.

I turned back to Miss Elizabeth and words began to tumble from my lips, haltingly at first and then more easily. The longer I spoke, the more I relaxed and the more frank I became. She mostly just listened but the comments she had were well thought out and kept me talking.

Although I had never told Bingley about my worms and snakes, somehow it did not seem so odd to share about them with Miss Elizabeth. I started by telling her, "As long as I can remember, I have always been fond of anything long and thin."

She nodded and kept listening as I told her about what it was like when I was young and being cared for by Nurse Storey and then how Governess Hayes replaced her and tried to take all my worms and snakes away. Miss Elizabeth was so kind then, commenting, "How horrible that governess was to a young boy who needed his items of comfort; it is almost inhuman, inhumane really, how she acted."

Miss Elizabeth listened as I told her about Mother and what she did to thwart Governess Hayes, but I did not tell her nearly all the horrors that Governess Hayes did, or how I reacted. She asked me, "So, I expect your governess could only act the way she did because your father let her do so."

I nodded, "He wanted me to be made like other boys, thought Governess Hayes could change me into the son he wanted. But I do not really want to talk about him." The pain I still felt when thinking about my father was too unsettling and was not something that I was ready to share.

Perhaps Miss Elizabeth saw some of it, for she handed me back my handkerchief. Having no need of it then, I absently tucked it in my pocket.

Then I told Miss Elizabeth about when Governess Hayes was finally replaced by my tutor Mr. Stowbaugh, and about being tutored along-side George Wickham. I told her about what George's role had been in my life, how he was meant to be my friend and example but tormented me instead. I also told her a bit about what George did to me at school and university, though of course I did not reveal the worst of his proclivities or the humiliation of being lured to the Suckling Room as those stories were not fit for a woman's ears.

I told her how my mother was never unwavering in her support even when it could not have been easy for her. In example of this, I told her about Georgiana being born and coming into see my mother who was abed, with my sister snuggled beside her. It was something I do not believe I had ever told another person about save for Georgiana, once; it was a treasure I had stored up for only me.

I explained, "My mother had not yet left her bed I suspect, as my sister was only perhaps an hour old; I was next to see her after my father. I did not know what to think of the baby, large, somewhat conical head, small body, thin reddish skin, large dark blue eyes, only a bit of fuzz upon her head. 'Come here Fitz,' my mother said, 'and hold your baby sister, Georgiana.' She then instructed me as to how to hold her."

Miss Elizabeth nodded, "I remember holding my two youngest sisters when they were babies."

"You may have known how to hold them, but to me it felt very awkward. I did my best to do it right, understanding the trust Mother was offering me, me who others did not trust. I slid one hand beneath my sister's neck and the other below her bottom. My baby sister was wearing a white dress that was too large for her, that my mother had trimmed with lace; I had seen my mother stitching it when she was confined to the house and was growing large with child. I held her out like this," I demonstrated, elbows bent against my sides, forearms out at an angle, hands palms side up, cupped around my invisible baby sister's neck and bottom.

"So, you held her out away from her," Miss Elizabeth commented.

"Yes, and she did not like it, she was squirming and making a little mewing noise. I was ready to plop her back on the bed, but my mother said, 'Not like that, Fitz, not away from you but toward you, against you. She craves the safety of being cradled securely. It shows her that she is loved.' I pulled her close and Georgiana settled, gave a little yawn showing her gummy mouth and then closed her eyes.

"My mother told me, 'That is just right. You will be a good brother to her. She will need her older brother to protect her and take care of her when she is little and later you shall both be a help to each other. Someday Father and I will be gone, but you shall always have your sister.' My mother was right, but the older she gets the more obvious it is to me that Georgiana is more of a help to me than I am to her."

As if me speaking of her summoned her, Georgiana returned, her basket filled with flowers. "Brother, we must go, Lady Catherine must have missed us by now."

When I looked over at her, I was suddenly aware of how high the sun was in the sky. "Yes, we must," I said with regret.

"Until tomorrow," Elizabeth said with a smile that seemed directed toward the both of us.

I was unwilling to leave just then, as she still my string intertwined with her ribbon. I very much wanted to have them back, but I was also afraid to ask for them.

Miss Elizabeth must have seen my eyes looking at her closed gloved hand which I knew held them. She brought this hand forward, opened it up and struggled to untie the ribbon from my string. It was not an easy endeavor, especially with gloves. Finally, she stripped off her gloves, handing them to Georgiana to hold.

I stared at Miss Elizabeth's bare hands, which were small but with relatively long fingers, while she worked. I noticed a small scar upon the back of her right hand. She had more success when she was able to use her fingernails. When she finally undid the knot, she gave a little sigh. Then she unwound her ribbon from my string.

Miss Elizabeth told me, "Mr. Darcy, I shall keep my token for now, but you may earn it in time." She then tucked the ribbon into the sleeve of her pale gown and held my string out to me in her open, still bare hand.

I felt Miss Elizabeth was inviting me to touch her hand in not simply extending the end of the string to me. I spread my gloved fingers out, dearly wishing I had a reason to remove my gloves as she had hers, and lightly touched her hand as I grasped the string. I held it a moment before I tucked it deep in my pocket.

Feeling bold I told her, "Tomorrow is your turn to share with me."

"I shall," Miss Elizabeth responded, inclining her head. I did my best to memorize the gentle smile on her face, how her dark eyes sparkled, the curve of her cheek as highlighted by the sun.

Georgiana handed Miss Elizabeth back her gloves and then each of us said, "Good-bye." We turned in opposite directions and walked away. I dearly wanted to turn to watch her, but I mostly resisted the impulse, only turning once, to see a quick flash of her, light against the dark trees, before she disappeared behind some trees.

As I walked back to Rosings with Georgiana, I had trouble restraining my stride. The exchange with Miss Elizabeth had gone so much better than I could have hoped, and we were going to continue to further our association!

I felt like trotting, jumping, waving my arms about and shouting in joy. I forced myself to walk as a gentleman should, but there was an extra bounce to my stride. However, my happiness still needed an outlet. Without my own volition, I found myself humming the tune to Good Morning, Fair Maid. Before long, Georgiana began to sing along.


	25. Flowers for Anne

Georgiana was right that we were missed. Lady Catherine immediately inquired when we returned inside, "Where were you, Darcy, Georgiana? We thought it most odd when you did not appear for breakfast, but then I learned from your servants that you were out."

Fortunately for me, Georgiana spoke before I could, as I am not very adept at telling lies. I find it far easier to deny than to fabricate a falsehood.

Georgiana explained, "I was gathering flowers and Brother was accompanying me. I needed them so Anne and I might press and perhaps draw them." I knew this was at least a lie of omission but as I knew that her explanation was to my benefit, I chose to say nothing. I reasoned for myself that if Georgiana was now planning on doing this activity with Anne that this was not a lie.

Lady Catherine nodded, apparently accepting Georgiana's explanation. "How thoughtful of you, Georgiana, but of course blood will win out and through your veins via your mother, run a whole line of earls and your father's untitled family is most respectable. Anne certainly appreciates all that nobility offers. If she had but the health to learn the piano forte, French and the like, why no one would have ever seen a more accomplished lady."

We all nodded. We were well trained that it was far easier to agree with what Lady Catherine said about what Anne could have done had she been well, than to dispute her capabilities. However, we also knew that far more than Anne's ill health prevented her from such accomplishments. Anne is like me, but whatever it is that I am, is far worse in her. However, perhaps Lady Catherine when referring to Anne's ill health was also including whatever I shared with her. But me without my oddities or Anne without hers, well I am not sure that we would be the same people at all.

Before our trip I suggested to Georgiana, "When we go to Rosings, I hope you may try to take an active interest in Cousin Anne." When she asked why, I explained, "I feel for Anne's circumstances and how narrow her world is, but I myself have to limit my interactions with her to avoid further raising Lady Catherine's expectations of our union. You are now of an age when I think you could well understand what is needed. As greatly as I benefited from my friendship with Bingley, I cannot but think that Anne might also benefit from a friend."

Georgiana responded, "Why, I hardly know Anne at all. It has been years since I have seen her. During our last visit I was freshly out of the nursery and I think that all we did together was dine at the same table. I think you are right, that it can only fall to me, but what exactly am I to do?"

I told Georgiana, "I will do my best to guide you, familiarize you with her interests and the like. You know, I think, that she is most fascinated with royalty that bear her same name. It would be well to bring up such a topic and listen to what she has to say. She may have new or other interests now. Certainly Mrs. Jenkinson will know what they are. Perhaps a day or two of you teaching Anne that she had nothing to fear from you and that you are eager to listen to all she has to say on her preferred topics would go far growing your relationship. This may be the very thing to provide the scaffolding to allow you, dear sister, to broaden Anne's world. While Mrs. Jenkinson is nothing but patient and kind with Anne, I rather suspect similar methods to the ones that Governess Hayes used on me, might have also been used on Anne, causing her to turn inward to a place of safety. Anne can read and write, which may be a way to expand her world and free her from her gilded cage."

"I shall do my best, Brother," she had vowed. "Perhaps I can find some womanly art that Anne would enjoy."

I responded, "Whatever you try with her, you must offer and not force. From knowing how I am, I believe you will have the most success if you introduce one option at a time without any pressure for Anne to participate. Perhaps bring enough supplies for the two of you and do whatever it is yourself in her presence, allowing her to decide whether to join you. Let her, herself indicate her interest."

It now appeared I was seeing Georgiana's efforts to see to the responsibility I had placed upon her. I hoped that Georgiana's understanding of me would aid in her reaching Anne. I doubted Anne would have any interest in either activity with the flowers but at least Georgiana was trying.

Lady Catherine exclaimed, "Georgiana, go ahead and see Anne, perhaps she will be interested in what you have gathered today, but in any event, make certain that you do not neglect your piano forte practice. You cannot practice too much."

Edwin, who was also in attendance, mimed Lady Catherine's last sentence, matching her mouth movement and her other facial expressions almost perfectly. I had to look away from him to avoid laughing.

Later that day I received proof that Georgiana was cleverer than me. "Brother!" She exclaimed when she found me alone in the library. She had a bright smile spread across her face. "Anne loved the flowers but most especially the wild carrot. I had heard the former colonists call it Queen Anne's Lace. I thought perhaps that might stir some interest in her and it did. She told me, reciting something that she had likely read in a book and memorized, the legend that Queen Anne pricked her finger while sewing lace and her drop of blood formed the carrot. It was the longest I have ever heard her speak.

"Mrs. Jenkinson and Mrs. Annesley proved most knowledgeable about flowers, for between the two of them they were able to name all the ones that I did not know. Then Mrs. Annesley suggested that we make up our own legends about the flowers and how they might be connected to royalty. It was great fun. Of course, Anne did not participate in that, but I do think she was listening as she bunched her skirt up with her fingers.

"She must have been as later, when Mrs. Jenkins suggested that tomorrow Anne might like to use her phaeton to find more wildflowers from the road, Anne agreed. Oh Brother, this will be our best trip here ever!"

I nodded. It was wonderful to see some enthusiasm from my sister, to see the reemergence of the girl whose happiness was dimmed by our mother's death and George's faked love and betrayal.

As happy as Georgiana's burgeoning friendship with Anne made me, it was nothing to the true source of my happiness, a beautiful, witty brunette who was tucked away at the parsonage, close at hand and yet so far. It was difficult to think about anything else. I wondered if Miss Elizabeth was also thinking of me.

Dinner with my aunt began as I have grown to expect it. She talks, we listen and occasionally she asks one person a question so that after responding she can provide unsolicited advice. We, her nephews, always thank her for the advice but typically ignore it while Georgiana feels obligated to obey it and later I have to remind her she does not dishonor our mother if she disregards the advice of her sister. Mrs. Jenkinson tries to get Anne to eat but otherwise Anne is overlooked by everyone else. I wonder what Lady Catherine would say if I told her the familiarity of the whole thing is comforting to me.

Today varied in that Georgiana decided to introduce a topic into the conversation. She waited until Aunt Catherine was momentarily silenced by chewing her meat (a technique that Edwin, his brothers, Georgiana and I employ on occasion to our shared delight) to tell her, "Lady Catherine, I had a most wonderful time discussing flowers with the ladies."

"Why then," exclaimed Lady Catherine, "I should most certainly have been invited to partake of this activity. Why no one can have better taste and sense in what flowers are most superior than me."

Georgiana said gently, "Lady Catherine, I showed you the wildflowers I collected this morning and told you of my plans to see if Anne might like to press or draw them. She did not seem interested in doing either of those things, but we did discuss the flowers. We hope to find more wildflowers on the morrow. Anne and I plan to seek some out tomorrow in her phaeton."

"Why Georgiana, there can be no need to venture beyond Rosings' gardens. My flower beds are far superior and have the best blooms compared to those you might find by gadding about. You should certainly select roses to draw and for roses there are no better or more colorful blossoms of ideal proportions than those found at Rosings. However, I suppose you must delay a few days or even weeks for the most promising of the buds to bloom. In the summer you may find a great variety of hues, a snow white, a pale yellow, a soft peach, many varieties of pink and a deep red." I could not help but note how she had completely ignored that the purpose of the planned excursion was to seek wildflowers.

"There is no purple." We were startled to hear Anne contribute to the conversation.

Georgiana responded, "Yes Anne, there are no purple roses. We will look for your purple flowers tomorrow."

"Well, I do not believe that roses grow in such a hue." Aunt Catherine responded, "If they did I would have some naturally! There can be no need for Anne to go anywhere or get out of her phaeton, none at all, when my gardens have the most delightful flowers, though they will be more worth looking at when summer commences."

"I will go!" Anne exclaimed and then folded her arms.

"Anne!" Edwin exclaimed, "You are upsetting your mother."

I looked over at my aunt and could see no sign that she was unduly emotional but I know I am not the best judge of these things.

Edwin tried to reason with Anne. "Georgiana can find purple flowers for you. There is no need to recklessly risk your health." I wondered why he cared if she went. I did not think her health had anything to do with it.

I could tell what Edwin perhaps could not, for in that moment the look on her face reminded me strongly of myself in those times that there is no reasoning with me. She had her mind set and it would be very difficult to dissuade her indeed. Now this Anne was much more interesting than the Anne I knew of old.

"Surely there can be no harm in Anne taking a few steps away from her phaeton." Georgiana tried to reason with Lady Catherine and Edwin.

"I will go!" Anne exclaimed.

"And go you shall," I promised Anne and then turned to address Lady Catherine. "Anne and Georgiana, along with their companions, may take our carriage and I shall escort them on my horse. It would be my honor to keep all the ladies safe."

Lady Catherine twisted her lips before grudgingly saying, "I suppose. . . ." I knew what I was doing and what hopes it might be raising in my aunt and that was likely the only reason for her consent, but at that moment it did not matter to me. I would not, could not, ever be persuaded to marry Anne but as she was my cousin, a fellow person like me, I would help my cousin where I could.

During the separation after supper Edwin smiled at me before saying, "How gallant of you to escort dear Anne. You see now why she needs your name and protection. Someone will have to keep her within bounds after Lady Catherine is gone, so she does not embarrass our family. That someone should be you as her husband."

I asked, "Why are you really so eager to match me with Anne?" I searched his face for the answer, but if there was an answer there I could not make it out.

He replied, "I shall always do what is best for our family and you."

"But why is it your right to decide what that will be? Why do you think you can dictate my actions?"

"It is the only logical choice, Fitz," he told me. "She will be safe if she remains here in Kent as your wife. Here the local populous knows _of_ Anne more than they _know_ her. She does no harm as an ill daughter and will do none as an ill wife. You will benefit greatly with the joining of the two estates. Already we have seen that Georgiana esteems her and it is good that she has taken an interest in her; she will support your marriage."

"My sister may have taken an interest in her cousin, but not for the purpose of making a match between us," I responded.

"But do you not see, Georgiana can help you with Anne, at least for the next few years until it is time for her to marry. I do not doubt that your sister will play her part well. However, you must discourage her from indulging Anne's whims. Georgiana should find Anne things to do inside the house. Mayhap she can teach her to draw or sing? Think of our family and your future."

I wished to argue further, but then it occurred to me that it might be to my benefit to make Edwin think I was seriously considering his advice and in such a way keep him from interfering with my own hopes and plans for my future. Edwin spoke some more but I ignored all he said in favor of imagining seeing Miss Elizabeth in the morning. I wondered when next I would see her in her yellow dress. I also thought about how I might best go about wooing her and earning back her ribbon.


	26. Interlude 3: Lady Catherine: Anne's Birds

When I retired for the evening, I gave myself up to Dawson's ministrations. The familiarity of all she did left me free to think. As she unbuttoned the many buttons on my dress, I let my thoughts drift.

As usual, I was almost immediately caught up in thinking about my daughter Anne and what would become of her. Although she was a woman, in many important ways she was like a child, impulsive, easily angered, selfish. Mrs. Jenkinson was more nurse or governess than companion. I trusted her with Anne, but Mrs. Jenkinson focused each time on just getting through the day with Anne and seemed to have no notion of how to ever make things better. In truth I should have found someone else to tend to Anne, especially after Mrs. Jenkinson's apoplectic fit.

I still remembered hearing Anne's shrill screams a few months earlier, which had made a passing maid run to fetch me. I hurried as fast as I could, convinced by the sounds she made which I could already hear when we were only halfway to her chambers, that some horrible calamity had befallen her. I imagined that Anne had broken a limb or had some other sort of awful accident and was gory with her own blood.

Anne, when about two and three years of age, loved nothing better than to play upon the stairs, she would go up and down (walking, crawling, bumping down upon her bottom) for hours on end. It used to always be the back staircase by the nursery, but I made the mistake one time of taking her to the grand staircase in the front of the house and she could not have liked it better.

Perhaps she liked the grand staircase upon every other staircase at Rosings (and she had become well acquainted with all of them) because it was the tallest one and one half of it was blocked off from the air with only a banister and many spindles. This staircase was most impressive, it was the thing that stuck in my mind the first time I saw my new abode. It was made of some dark wood which gleamed (I later learned it was damp polished each day, and washed each week by a set of two maids who took turns holding the trough-shaped bucket, specially constructed to sit upon each riser, between them).

When Anne was a little older, she became enchanted with the balcony area just above the stairs, which was enclosed by spindles topped by a smooth rail. This high point was perhaps twenty-five feet above the ground below. She would push anything she could find between the spindle and watch it fall to the ground.

Anne did not talk then, she only screamed, but I knew what each scream meant: delight, anger, fear, pain and more I am sure. She would scream a scream of delight to see her hairbrush fall and clatter (it was a higher pitched scream of shorter duration) but was not as impressed when soft things fell (which only merited a short, almost indifferent scream). As the falling objects could bounce quite wide, we had to have all breakable objects moved far away.

If anyone tried to take something away from Anne, or retrieve the object from below, she would scream angrily about that. She wanted things to pile up down below, to hit the previous things she had dropped. She enjoyed seeing things break and shatter, but naturally the shards would spread out widely and take some effort to clean up. Through trial and error, we learned that books made a sufficiently loud sound to impress her, but they were sometimes damaged with her efforts.

Lewis of course was not impressed. He used to tell me, "Lady Catherine, why can Anne not stay in the nursery like all other children her age? It is not seemly, not seemly at all." However, it did not appear to me that he would ever do anything about it; because she was only a girl child and not his son, he considered her my domain.

However, at some point Lewis must have listened to my brother as he came back from London after seeing him with a stern nurse for Anne. Her name was Mrs. Hatchet. She thought it her duty to break Anne of her amusement. She would pick up Anne and haul her away. When she did so, Anne would scream as someone else might, if someone was being murdered. It was the loudest, most piercing, horrid tone that caused any within earshot to cover their ears. However, it seemed to have no effect on Mrs. Hatchet except to make her grimace as she carried Anne bodily off to the nursery.

Anne was beside herself and in addition to screaming she struggled, hit, kicked, scratched and bit like a wild animal and Mrs. Hatchet soon bore bruises, angry red scratches and other marks. In the first week of this new regime, Anne managed to escape from the nursery at least once a day and soon Mrs. Hatchet brought a blanket to wrap Anne tightly in, a sort of swaddling. Anne would grow red from her screaming once it was applied. Mrs. Hatchet did not last long, she departed less than ten days after she started of her own accord, not even requesting a letter of reference. But Lewis (or perhaps my brother for him), kept finding others of her ilk.

The way Anne screamed while hauled away from the grand staircase by Mrs. Hatchet, was a very like scream to the one Anne used when Mrs. Jenkinson collapsed. I recalled being fetched to my daughter's rooms by a maid, "Lady Catherine, you must come quick, Miss de Bourgh needs you so. Mrs. Jenkinson is ill and already Mr. Cranks is fetching the apothecary, but Anne is screaming as if her companion is already dead and she will not let us move her to her bed."

I recalled how I ran, hearing Anne's screams grow louder the closer I came to her. When I finally reached her side, she seemed insensible to the world, but gripped Mrs. Jenkinson's limp hands all the harder when I tried to pry her fingers away. I wondered how Anne would react if something similar happened to me.

"Lady Catherine?" I snapped back to myself. I was nude and expected that Dawson was waiting for me to bend my arm so that it could easily be slipped into the sleeve of my nightgown in which she was attempting to dress me.

But that was not what the question in her voice was about. I could tell when I saw where her eyes were focused. Automatically I said, "It is fine."

"Are you sure Ma'am? Is not the discoloration a little bigger now?"

I wondered how Dawson thought she could see anything by the candlelight. I glanced down at the purplish mark upon my left breast. Perhaps it was bigger; perhaps it was only a trick of the lighting. Dawson was the one who had spotted it first, a couple of months earlier.

"Leave it be!" I told her a little too sharply.

I bent my arm and Dawson slid the sleeve on it before moving behind me to do the same thing with my other arm. Then she began buttoning my nightgown up.

"Will you let the surgeon try?" Dawson asked, her eyes focused on her task and, I felt, avoiding looking at me in the face.

"No," I told her.

She looked sad, but perhaps none but I would have known it. Her jaw was dropped a little, her eyelids a little softer and then an obvious swallow. But Dawson did not try to argue with me. She knows her place, after all, even after all the years we have spent together.

I had seen a surgeon of course. I went to town for just a few days, stayed with my brother the Earl, made a vague complaint about "female problems" and went to see the doctor he recommended. The doctor listened to my description of the how my breast had altered, feeling vaguely heavier than the other one, the slight discoloration. He opined, "Likely it is cancer," and sent me to a surgeon.

The surgeon, a man with bushy salt and pepper hair and large caterpillar-like black eyebrows, offered, "I have seen this sort of growth before; it will get worse. I suppose I could try to cut the whole thing off," he made a slicing motion with his finger at the base, against my ribs, "but I do not advise it."

Usually surgeons are only too eager to lop things off that project from the body, so naturally I asked, "Why ever not?"

He hesitated. I noticed that his thick eyebrows, which had formerly punctuated his every word with a little wriggle or sometimes an up and down swoop when he spoke earlier, suddenly stilled and smushed into a super caterpillar as he drew his brows together and that his shoulders rose. I could tell he was tense as he considered what to reveal. "It is quite a painful operation no matter how quickly I wield my blade and most do not survive long enough to heal. Better to let it take its course; you may still have some good time yet." That was when I knew for sure I was going to die.

I went back to my brother's house. I told him, "All is well; it is much as I expected." He nodded, but even as he nodded, I could see him searching my face for the truth. Still, at least he asked no questions.

Later I spoke with the Earl's son, Edwin Fitzwilliam, my favorite among his sons, and told him, "I need your help. On your Easter trip you must persuade Darcy to marry Anne."

He gave a little sigh, ran his hand through his sandy hair and replied, "Lady Catherine, you have tried this before. I know that this is your preference and what my father desires as well, but Darcy is an obstinate fellow and unlikely to be persuaded."

"Perhaps, but I want you to try just the same."

He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why are you so eager for it to happen now?"

"A mother wants to see her child properly settled before she dies." I tried to keep my tone light, kept any quaver from my voice.

"Why so melodramatic? You may be my elder, but are hardly old," he declared, looking at me intently. His eyes were fixed upon me, much as his father's had been. But unlike his father, he probably had even less of an idea of why I was in town. Still, Fitzwilliam continued to search my face for a hint of what was different now.

"Still, it is past time now." I considered telling him everything, but I knew if I did, I would cry, and if I began to cry, I doubted I could stop. It was important to me to keep my dignity, to not become a hysterical woman. I had faced death before, many, many times, just not my own for a long while. Death is normal, natural; it happens all the time.

Fitzwilliam nodded a little and then said, "You may have your secrets, Lady Catherine. I will do what I can. Perhaps if we act as if it is a foregone conclusion Darcy may go along."

I had to be content with that. I did not cry that night in London and left early the next day with Dawson. I did not cry during the carriage ride back, or when I returned to Rosings, or when I saw Anne. I covered my feelings with normalcy and routine. But that night, when finally, I was alone save for Dawson, who was readying me for bed, the tears began to fall, quickly going from a sprinkle to a torrent. When it was just a few tears, Dawson ignored it, but when it became a flood, she held me in an embrace and cried too.

When we both settled a bit, I told her then what the surgeon had told me. She was the only one in whom I confided, and I bound her to secrecy.

Dawson said, "I hope he is wrong and that you may still live for many years, but regardless I will be with you always." She seemed so sincere that I was ready to start crying again.

I looked down and told her, "I have never doubted your loyalty, Dawson."

She responded, "It has always been my honor to serve you, Lady Catherine."

I glanced at Dawson now, tying the ribbon at my neck, and felt my eyes grow wet in recalling her loyalty. Rather than letting myself cry tonight, I forced my thoughts on a new path.

I recalled reading an account of eunuchs who believed that they needed to keep their severed cods with them so that when they died, they might be buried with that part of themselves so that they could be whole in the afterlife. I imagined having my breast handed to me after the surgery, wrapped in a handkerchief. I might tuck it in my reticule so that I could keep it with me always. It would fill my reticule to bursting at first but perhaps it might eventually mummify and eventually turn to dust. Dawson might ensure that it went with me in the end, if someone else did not mistake it for trash and throw it away.

Somehow it was easier to play out such ridiculous thoughts about the surgery than entertain macabre thoughts about my demise from the growth. I would not be spared pain in the end, but I might have enough time to arrange things so I might not fear my death.

I hemmed in my thoughts, constructed fences around the things I would not think about now. I needed to focus on Anne, to make sure she was protected.

I forced myself to consider what the new development of Georgiana and Darcy going on an outing with Anne could mean. I knew Anne was not like other women, but despite her nature, she was still beautiful with flaxen hair and a feminine figure. Perhaps Darcy had finally noticed? But what if he had? Despite my voicing that I wished for grandchildren, I could not quite imagine Anne bearing with such intimacy as is required to beget them.

Still, I could not imagine that Darcy would be the sort to force himself on anyone. He among all I knew was the least likely to impose on her. He must have the same desires as other men, but they are not as evident.

My nightclothes in place, I sat down in my chair while Dawson let down my hair and brushed it. She softly hummed a hymn as the boar bristle brush slid through the strands which were more white than blonde now.

Although Anne's health had been poor since her childhood illness, and I had been told repeatedly not to expect her to reach adulthood, her majority had come and gone. She still certainly might die young, but the doctors I had consulted and the apothecary who brewed her tinctures, were more optimistic that her physical health was not as precarious as it had once seemed. Still, she was not to over-exert herself for her heart was weak. They had warned against her marry and becoming with child. Still, I thought Anne might be strong enough now to bear one.

For years I always thought I might outlive Anne, but now? Now, it seemed more likely that I would depart long before her.

It was important, vital, that suitable arrangements be made for Anne. I thought it was likely, probable even, that if left without appropriate protection that she might end up with Rosings stripped away from her and be left to die in an asylum. I could not trust my brother the Earl to safeguard her. He had always thought Anne's existence as she was to be shameful, had said such vile things about her that we never spoke of her to each other anymore. It was the only way I could bear my brother's company; I did not want to lose him, after all he is family, my only living sibling. It was this fear that he or his eldest son might take everything away from Anne that had me most eager to solidify a match between her and Darcy.

Before Darcy had arrived for his visit and I found out he wished to bring Georgiana, I tried to find hidden meaning in this decision, to find it a positive portend that now, finally, he might offer for Anne. I fed this hope daily before they arrived, but already I was almost certain that his sister joining Darcy had no significance.

Although Fitzwilliam was firmly on my side, no doubt at my brother the Earl's behest to keep all the family money in the family, even before I had confided in him, I was not sure Fitzwilliam could help me secure Darcy for Anne. Fitzwilliam did not speak falsely when he spoke of Darcy's stubbornness and I would not be all the surprised if Darcy has decided never to marry, to leave Pemberley to Georgiana and her sons one day instead.

I was roused from my reverie a bit when Dawson paused, and then I heard the clunk of the wooden brush handle against the dressing table. A moment later I could feel little tugs as she worked at loosely braiding my hair to secure it for the night.

I felt confident that Darcy was the best match I could find for Anne. Although he had mostly ignored her on previous visits, he was like her, although unlike Anne he could navigate the wider world and manage the duties of his position in life. I felt only he could understand her and being a man who had come into his inheritance and successfully managed his land, no one could take it away from him. Yes, Darcy was certainly the most logical choice.

Next, Dawson poured warmed water from the pitcher into the bowl, and then dipped in a cloth before she began cleansing my face and neck. She alternated between days when she used just water and days when she also used soap as this time of year soap made my face dry and itchy if used too often. It was familiar and soothing. I felt a bit of tension leave my face, felt the tightness between my brows smooth somewhat, although my shoulders were still tight with worry.

But my whole body tensed up once again when I thought of Darcy declaring that he would not marry Anne and that Fitzwilliam should do the honors instead. It was not the worst notion in the world, but I was convinced they would not be a good match. Edwin Fitzwilliam is the sort of man who wishes to go to London for the season, to attend parties, events, outings of all sorts. In his role of tending to Darcy, he has forced Darcy to live more in the world, which is not a bad thing, but it would be sheer folly to think Fitzwilliam could do the same for Anne. And there was not one of his brothers who would be preferable to him.

"Try to relax, Lady Catherine," Dawson told me, momentarily pausing in humming her hymn. "Umm," I replied as I heard her rub her hands together to warm the lotion. Then she began to rub lotion on my face and neck, before moving onto my hands and feet.

I could not really relax until I could sort out Anne's future. My thoughts had a sort of urgent quality about them as I feared there was not as much time left to do so.

Fitzwilliam would be frustrated at what Anne could never, would never do. I could not imagine him content to stay at Rosings with Anne, to keep her protected from prying eyes. While he might enjoy what her inheritance could provide, I doubted (from both my observations of him and my brother's reports of his lackadaisical performance while at school), he would know how to manage the land and keep the books balanced. I certainly would never want to see Anne forced to leave her home, her inheritance lost from her husband's bumbling.

"I am finished now, and your bed is already turned down," Dawson told me. "Is there anything else you would be wanting, Lady Catherine?"

"That will be all, Dawson," I told her.

She waited while I climbed into my bed and then drew the blankets and counterpane over me. As was her usual practice, she blew out all the candles but for the humble one she took with her to light her way to the servants' quarters. I was left in a mostly dark room, save for the fire.

I considered Darcy's behavior from earlier in the day. I felt a bit of hope flutter in my chest like a bird fluttering its wings, considering whether to fly or remain perched. The hope was there because Darcy, perhaps, was now taking an interest in Anne by volunteering to escort her on an outing on the morrow. It would have been better if he would have ridden in a carriage with her, but I knew he always rode rather than traveled inside a conveyance, ever since his father died. Of course, rather than simply be content with this progress, a little voice in my head whispered contrary thoughts: _He means nothing by it; it is a favor to his sister and nothing more._

"No," I declared aloud, sitting up in my bed and talking to myself. "Darcy must marry Anne; it is the only solution that makes sense."

 _He need do nothing of the sort._ The whispering in my head felt louder and more malicious.

Then the imagined voice sounded more like my sister Anne. _You would force him to marry without any affection, to not have love?_

"No, of course not." I reasoned with myself. "Affinity can lead to love."

But my thoughts were insidious, malicious and made me question what I was trying to do. _He is not meant for Anne. Anne is not fit to marry, not now, not ever._ The voice was no longer my sister Anne's. It was changing into someone else's voice.

"No, that is not right. Darcy has improved, so may Anne. She has come so far from that child who would not speak, who would only scream. She reads, she writes, she retains much obscure knowledge, just as he does. In this they are equal."

Then the voice sounded like my brother's voice when Anne was but a child. _I know you have affection for her, but Anne is broken, defective, cannot be mended._ I made no reply to that voice, did not answer that thought, because I feared it was right.

After reflecting a while, I spoke aloud again, "Even more reason for Anne to have a protector, when I am gone." No voice answered that thought, so I lay back down on my bed.

My thoughts continued to spin and battle and sleep continued to escape me as the night wore on. Sometimes I had pleasant thoughts about Anne. I recalled how when she was about five, she lost most of her interest in throwing things down to the floor below. Instead, she became intrigued with a family of robins that built a nest close to her window. She made short screams in the rhythm (if not tone) of their calls, flapped her arms as if they were wings and picked up things in her mouth.

I hired a man skilled at working with wood to make a simulacrum of a bird and another to paint it just so. When I brought it to Anne one day, she was excited to reach out and grab it. I heard the happy scream then. But soon she was shaking it and threw it aside with frustration saying, "No, no, no." That was one of a handful of words she knew then.

Later, I tried again, with a soft bird made of cloth and felt. It looked less like the robins in my opinion, but its wings were only attached to its shoulder area and were moveable. Anne liked this one better, did not reject the "ir, ir" as she called the birds, but I could tell she was still frustrated with it. Then she began to make her imitation of their calls.

I understood now that Anne wanted their sound, but I had no idea of how it could be replicated in a bird that could be made. I found a wood whistle and tried to show her how to use it, demonstrating and then saying, "blow."

Anne tried but could not seem to figure out how to wrap her lips firmly enough around the whistle that no air would escape, or how to blow hard enough, but she seemed content to let me do it. I kept it with me. Every time I visited her, we would try again.

I would tell her "Mama blow," and then blow it, and then "Anne blow," and hold it out for her. She quickly added another word to her repertoire, "bow, bow." Whenever I would enter the nursery, Anne would look right at me, focused, waiting, and tell me, "Mama bow." She was waiting for what only I could do.

A clever, yet too forward, nursery maid suggested that we make Anne a book with pictures drawn of the birds which showed what they did to be read to her. I found a skilled woman on my staff with the necessary skills to make a series of pen and watercolor paintings. But, naturally, this woman could neither read nor write, so it was I that arranged the pictures and wrote the story in large letters.

It was a silly story, talking about the mama bird and the papa bird making the nest, the mama bird laying the eggs and sitting upon them, and then the mama bird and papa bird bringing the baby birds their food and then singing them to sleep. The painting of the baby birds with their mouths open wide as the mama bird stuffed a large insect inside one gaping, red maw, was very life-like. We bound the individual sheets together with needle and thread, with a soft cloth cover with the mama bird and her baby birds worked in embroidery on the front along with the title "Anne's Birds."

When Anne would let me, I would read the book to her. When she was especially cooperative, I would trace the print with her pointer finger and teach her the letters.

One morning in the fall, when I was not yet out of bed, I was fetched by a nursery maid and told only, "Miss de Bourgh is screaming and needs you." I rushed to the nursery in nothing but my nightclothes.

When I arrived, I only heard sobs, but that was awful enough. When Anne saw me, she quieted and allowed Mrs. Jenkinson to wipe away her tears with a handkerchief. Then she walked to the window and looked out.

I followed Anne there, but even before I could see anything around her out the window, I knew what was wrong. It was far too quiet. Yes, there was birdsong, but none of it sounded near.

I looked out the nursery window and saw that the bird nest was empty and immediately recognized my own error in not preparing Anne in some way for the fact that the fledglings would not stay in the nest forever.

Anne took me by the hand and pulled me to a chair where I often sat and read "Anne's Birds" to her. I sat down, she fetched the book and she sat upon my lap. I stroked her short flaxen hair (we had to cut it short as she could not abide combing for more than a few moments and the tangles were awful otherwise) as I read the story to her once again. I had read it so many times that I did not have to even read the words to know what to say. I was glad it was apparently giving her some measure of comfort.

After we got to the page labeled "The End" Anne flipped to the page just past it. It was not something for me to read as it had no words. There was just a painting of a tree with no birds. That painting had not fit the story, but as it was a skilled painting, I had included it, nevertheless.

"Ird? Ird?" Anne asked, first holding the book close to my face, then bringing it back down to her lap and looking at me intently with her blue eyes.

"Bye-bye birds," I told her, waving goodbye first to the illustration and then again as I turned toward the window. I had always said, "Bye-bye Anne" or "Goodbye Anne" when I left, although she had never used the word herself.

Anne seemed to understand and repeated, "Bye-bye irds."

From my bed I imagined Anne again a small child. This time she was looking for me and I could not be found, just like the birds, and she screamed and then sobbed and cried. This thought greatly troubled me and was held fast, like a bear's paw in a trap. I felt a tightness in my chest, a thickness in my throat.

 _What will become of my Anne, when her mama bird is gone?_ I wondered, jumbling up my death with the birds growing up and leaving the nest. I felt now that there was no possibly way to sleep. Then it occurred to me that I knew what I needed to do, even if it had been awhile since I had done so.

I undid Dawson's careful work by roughly flinging back the bedding and sliding out the left side of the bed. Then gingerly, I squatted while holding onto the side of the bed and then placed one knee and then the other upon the floor. I laced my fingers together upon the mattress and bowed my head on top of them. I suppose I could have prayed in my bed, but it felt, rightly or wrongly, that He might listen more carefully if I put some effort into it. Perhaps being willing to abide the pain to my knees might show my sincerity.

First, I prayed the Lord's prayer and then before uttering the "amen" prayed my own words. "Oh God the Father, there is much suffering in the world and none of us are spared, just as you would not spare your Son. I know you have a plan for all of your children, to lead them to your kingdom, but they also need to be tended to in this life. I would pray for your healing upon me, not for my sake, but for the sake of my daughter Anne. She needs a protector and I pray you would raise one up for her. But until she has one other than me, I pray that you would spare my life. I know you have the power to make the growth depart from me, to cleanse me of my affliction. However, not my will but yours. Amen."


	27. Becoming her Confidant

I awoke earlier than I needed to meet with Georgiana for our morning walk. I used the time to write a brief missive to Bingley as I had promised Miss Elizabeth. I explained about our discussions, and why it was Miss Elizabeth who influenced her sister to think poorly of me and to view me as a potential mill stone around Bingley's neck. I concluded by writing:

_I hope that you will consider a further association with Miss Bennet. Do not on any account refrain based upon the loyalty and love you bear for me as your close friend. Miss Elizabeth has willingly embraced her responsibility for what has transpired and now that we are endeavoring to understand each other better I have hope for a future with her. I do not see why you and Miss Bennet might not do the same._

I gave the letter to Jeffrey to post and then with a lighter heart left to meet Georgiana again.

Although Georgiana had no particular advice for me, we talked as we made our way to the meeting spot. Shortly before we arrived, she told me, "Oh Brother, I am so happy that you have been able to share with Miss Elizabeth and that you are now seeking to know her further. She was wrong but all shall be made right. I am confident in this."

Miss Elizabeth was waiting in a morning gown of palest pink, wearing a sturdy bonnet also trimmed with pink ribbon. The pink color complemented her pink lips which smiled at me. I delighted in seeing that this time after greeting us both that she sought immediately to talk to me.

Georgiana excused herself with a little laugh and declared, "Brother, if you mind it not, I would ask your permission to collect a few new leaves for pressings. I will make sure to stay in sight."

"But of course," I told her. However, I made a very poor guardian as I believe my eyes only sought her out once or twice, and not because of any concern for her but because I wished to share what I was feeling with her.

I told Miss Elizabeth, "Even this morning I posted a letter to Bingley as we discussed."

"I thank you, Mr. Darcy," she told me. "I could not have imagined before our interactions in Kent that rather than being the source of my sister's disappointment that you might become her savior. Please forgive me for my disparagement; it was very badly done on my part."

I merely inclined my head; I was unwilling for our conversation to linger there. After a slight pause I gathered my courage and asked, while trying my best to meet her eyes, "Do you have further questions of me?"

Miss Elizabeth nodded and asked: "Could you explain why you acted as you did at the assembly?"

"But of course," I replied, although in truth it was the last thing I desired to do. I knew I had acted very poorly toward her. It was not well done at all and I feared my explanation would only have me looking odd to her mind. Still, I would be honest. Disguise of any sort is abhorrent to me.

"As I believe I have explained earlier, I am always uncomfortable when someplace new. I had just arrived at Netherfield when Bingley and his sisters asked me to attend the assembly. I attended against my own inclination in an attempt to please my hosts. I should have declined. I will always be particularly uncomfortable interacting with those I do not know. Uncertainty makes me anxious and nothing can be more uncertain than how a stranger will react to me."

I considered how to explain it before proceeding. "An assembly is a particularly bad setting because the sights, sounds and smells are overwhelming and there is not a bit of peace anywhere. I sought to limit my interactions to those of my own party because it was safer. Because I could not dissuade Bingley, I ended acting rudely in an attempt to make him let me be. No one I did not know could have tempted me to dance. Thus while I apologize for my actions towards you at the assembly, I need you to understand why I acted as I did. It was not because I wanted to be rude but because I was fearful of interacting with strangers in a new place."

"I think I understand," Miss Elizabeth told me, inclining her head slightly, "but it wounded me to hear those words from you, without knowing why you acted as you did."

"I am very sorry," I had received her apology and now she needed mine. "If only I had met you prior in a more sedate setting, I am sure I would have wanted to dance with you. Did you not notice that on other occasions I asked you to dance, such as when Sir Lucas suggested it, and when you were staying Netherfield? However, each time you refused. Is there aught else you wish clarity on?"

Miss Elizabeth replied, "Yes, one last question has lingered on my mind. What do you expect of me?"

Here was the opening I dearly wanted, but I was uncertain as to whether I should take it. I felt that Miss Elizabeth's prior words showed a willingness for her to hear it, but I also feared driving her away from me. I took a few moments to study her countenance, to see if I could decipher any clues as to how to proceed. I noted that she was looking at me, and that she was now only standing an arm's width away from me. I could not help but tote these up as positive signs. I decided to proceed.

"Wishes and expectations are different things," I told her, feeling hope within me but trying to temper it; she had to understand all. Although I was anxious to know more about her I also had determined there was more she needed to know from me.

"I expect that now you have absolved me from the worst of George Wickham's accusations." Miss Elizabeth nodded. "You also know now that there was a partial truth in some things he said. I did not speak like other children, play like other children or act like other children. He was tasked with being my example and friend."

"Knowing now what I do of his character, it must have been difficult to have such an association enforced," she commented.

"Yes, it was. But my father was not wrong to think I needed other people to learn from, he was simply wrong in his choice of instrument, in trying to force an association with him rather than someone more worthy. I have learned better how to act as I ought, what is expected but I do not react as others do and I do not think I ever shall."

Miss Elizabeth took a half step closer to me, held out her gloved hand for a moment, as if to lay it on me in comfort before withdrawing it and placing it against her skirt. I took this as a positive sign and, so, found the strength to continue.

"I am terribly anxious; I have trouble looking in many people's eyes and my impulses are difficult to control. I do best when I know what to expect and a schedule is observed. It is difficult for me to adapt to change and I need substantial time away from others."

"You are a very private person," she observed, "one who requires a well-ordered life."

"Yes, very much so, but by necessity rather than choice. Interactions are often exhausting to me, I feel I expend much more effort in them than other people do."

"How so?" she asked gently.

"You see, I do not read others' emotions well and have trouble with understanding what various facial expressions mean. It requires a great deal of effort to determine what I can from it."

"Are there other things in such interactions that are also difficult for you?" she asked.

"Many. I am particularly ill-equipped to decipher sarcasm. I will misunderstand you when your words do not match your meaning. I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," I told her, "of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns as I often seen done. While I care about people, most of my concern is saved for those close to me, and this circle is quite small."

Miss Elizabeth's eyes were bright as she looked at me, but I could not tell if she understood that I was now including her in that circle. A single man ought not talk to a single unrelated woman about forming a close association with her. It is not appropriate.

"Although I improve in understanding what is meant by someone I know well, I do not believe much of it can be attributed to me learning all the little signals they give other people but because they alter how they interact with me. I have prayed to be worthy of you . . ." I paused when I heard her give a little gasp, saw her cheeks pink (it was most lovely), "but God has not seen fit to change my nature. I cannot substantially alter myself for the better but I have done what I can. I do not expect you to understand a being like me. I hope you will want to try."

She nodded and said nothing. I hoped it was a nod of agreement biding me to continue. I thought, perhaps, I was a fool indeed to tell her these things.

"Miss Elizabeth, I need you to know dealing with my oddities will be a substantial disadvantage to anyone who marries me." I held out a hand for silence when she would have spoken.

"I know I have hidden from you in plain sight, shown a mask of pride to all. I do not wish to hide from you anymore. I desire to understand you and for you to understand me. I wish to court and marry you but I ask for nothing now, will try to expect nothing until you give me leave to hope. You must have the time to learn the true measure of who I am before you decide whether you could be happy with me."

I took a couple of deep breaths then. My throat felt dry. I did not think that I had ever talked so much before, all at one time. When my eyes sought the ground, I forced them up to look at her. I awaited her reply.

Miss Elizabeth nodded. She parted her lips as if to speak, then closed them again; this occurred thrice. Although she did not keep me waiting overly long, perhaps thirty seconds ticked by, I felt out of sorts, disconcerted, vaguely sick inside my stomach.

Finally, she spoke. "I realize now, Mr. Darcy, that you are not the person that Mr. Wickham described or that I conceived of from almost the earliest of our interactions until quite recently." Miss Elizabeth gave me a half smile then, which I returned. And then there was more silence that I had to wait through.

When she began talking again, her voice was a bit softer. "I have no experience with someone like you and thus I attributed all of your actions to an unseemly pride. The man that stands before me has challenges indeed, but from all I can tell you are a kind man who does his best in difficult circumstances. I do not know you well enough to know if we could find happiness together, but I am willing to try to understand the man before me." When she finished, she looked down and kept her gaze focused on the ground.

I ached to reach out for Miss Elizabeth, to take up her hand, but it was far too early for that. Instead I let my words say what my body could not. I told her, "Thank you for your willingness to try, it is a kindness that few have extended to me. I know that I do not know your true self either," I responded, "but I believe I saw glimpses of it with your quick wit and care for your sister. Please tell me about yourself. I would know all you are willing to tell me."

I do not know what I expected to hear, perhaps some lively story about her childhood which might illustrate her character or a fond remembrance of growing up with Miss Bennet. But that was not what I ultimately received. But at first what she told me was much what I expected.

"My childhood I rather think was rather ordinary, quite like what other girl children around us received, save for the fact that my parents had more than others. I was a quick child and that made me pleasing to my father and I wanted to be pleasing to him. He took over my education when I was perhaps ten years of age (by then I was already a better reader than my mother and Jane). By educating me, I do not mean that Father had some plan or structure to what I should learn, but that he began to suggest books for me to read. Usually it was just whatever he thought not too difficult for a girl, and that he was interested in at the time."

I nodded, trying to imagine having such a relationship with my own father. I thought of what I should comment or what I should ask, but before I could think of what it should be, she began speaking again.

"Mother did her duty to me, but there was always a harsh edge to it. I did not know why, but when I learned the word 'affront' I knew that I an affront to my mother. I did not understand why that should be except that I was not as perfect as Jane."

I was poised to interrupt, to tell her that she was like a jewel and her sister a dull pebble, but fortunately she stilled my words with a look (as it would have hardly been prudent to speak about her sister in such a way).

"I know now that Jane and I are simply different from one another, neither better, the same in God's sight. I cannot remember a time when Jane was anything other than pretty, tidy and serene. As for me, I was a curious child who loved to be out of doors. I caught small creatures in jars and brought them to my father. He had natural history books and would teach me about my specimens. He also taught me how to kill them and mount them, but I did not like to see them still and I stopped bringing them to him."

"I also caught things like that, mostly butterflies," I commented before admitting, "but I had no compunction in keeping them."

Miss Elizabeth responded, "Perhaps I was too tenderhearted as a child." She gave a little sigh and her eyes grew bright, wet. "Perhaps I simply did not want to be the bringer of death, as I was convinced I had before."

I understood her words, but I did not understand her meaning, so I asked, "Whatever do you mean, that you were the bringer of death before?"

"I . . . I did not plan to tell you; I have told none but Charlotte and Jane. But you have trusted me, so I ought to do the same." Still she considered for a few moments before continuing. "Around the same time as I was learning about those small creatures, I overheard something that I was never meant to hear. My parents were arguing. Most of it was indistinct, but I thought I heard my name and was anxious to find out what it was about. I suspected that my mother might be displeased with me and wanting my father to punish me. I put my ear upon my mother's door to hear them better."

Miss Elizabeth swallowed, her eyes grew wetter and I saw a tension in her jaw. She held her gloved hands tightly together.

"You see, my mother was always finding fault with me for often the smallest of things. Mama especially did not like my forays into the woods, even though it was safe enough (it was only a small patch of wood with a stream running through it and was not large enough to house dangerous creatures) and I could not get lost. Papa was saying, 'Why are you being so harsh on Lizzy? It is not as if it is her fault.'

"My mother screeched, 'But _she_ stole what should have been _his_ ; far better it would have been if _he_ lived and _she_ had died. She even believes herself a boy.'

"Papa said, 'Mrs. Bennet, be reasonable. It is not uncommon for one twin to not survive. It was just God's will; we are fortunate that both were not lost.'

"Mama would have none of it and her voice grew louder and more strident, saying, 'Do not tell me to be reasonable! You always take up for _her_ over _me_. But I know the truth; she stole his life. She was born first when she should have waited for him. And she was larger than him, too. We needed a son; she stole that from us.' I know their argument went on, but as I was already crying over the terrible secret I had learned, I crept away. I told Jane everything and she comforted me. She told me that Papa was right, and Mama was wrong, but sometimes I still doubt."

I was affected by what she had told me, felt hurt for the girl-child who had heard this and for the woman before me who was anguished over it. Now it was I who extended a hand toward her, to soothe as I might Georgiana, before realizing it would be most improper and withdrawing it.

I told her, knowing that my words were unlikely to make much difference, "Miss Bennet and your father are most certainly right that you have done nothing wrong. Your mother was certainly most blessed to have so many living children; my mother certainly wanted more but was unsuccessful."

"I know my mother loves me," Miss Elizabeth continued, looking above me (perhaps at the puffy clouds above, the tops of the trees or nothing in particular), "but she does not like me very well and I can never atone."

She looked back at me again. "I know I must honor my mother, but it is hard to do, especially when my father takes so much amusement in her follies. I also resent that my father chose my mother. Although he is a scholar, I have no doubt he selected her simply because she was so lovely, the acknowledged 'beauty of Meryton' in her day, rather than because he cared about her. I understand she looked a lot like Jane. Having seen the mismatch between my parents, I have vowed to only marry for love, but men do not want clever wives. My mother has told me that often enough."

Upon hearing the last I could not help but interrupt: "You are wrong at least as far as the man before you. Your wit and mind are treasures."

Miss Elizabeth smiled at me then, and I judged it to be a true smile. She blinked away the threatened tears, although she did have to dab at her nose a bit afterwards. "Thank you for saying that, Mr. Darcy. I want to think that not all men are like my father in that regard, perhaps not even he, that maybe if he had it to do all over again that he might choose differently."

She proceeded to tell me, "I was irrevocably changed by what I heard that day, although I did not really know how much at the time. I only felt raw, wounded. But gradually, my wit became my shield and I learned that by laughing I could keep my tears at bay. Both are lessons that my father taught me well without even knowing he was teaching me. I believe he uses these tools in much the same way as I do."

I responded, "I hope you never need such devices to protect yourself from me, that we might simply say things to each other with honesty, that your laughter may bubble up from genuine mirth and not pain."

"I will try," she told me. "As for my father, I know he wishes he did not have to be married to my mother, but his honor prevents him from shaming her. To be yoked so unequally has dissuaded me from seeking out most potential suitors. Wealth or a comfortable situation would not be enough if I could not respect and esteem my husband. I have perfected a manner to insult and needle without seeming to do so. I did this with you, but I dare say you did not understand what I was doing."

"I did not, but I did notice your fine eyes and playful nature. Thank you for trusting me with more."

I felt that there was much more I wanted to say, but during our last exchange Georgiana had slipped to my side. She informed us, "The hour grows late, Brother and I ought to return."

With regret (at least on my part, but I hoped on her part as well) we began to exchange our goodbyes and prepared to part. It should not have been so difficult, knowing we would see each other later at Mrs. Collins's tea.

As we were about to leave, I remembered to warn her, "Do not expect me to say much at the tea today. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had other ideas of who I should marry and I do not want him to perceive my regard at this juncture as he might endeavor to interfere with our meetings, so do not expect much direct preference there from me."

"I understand," she acknowledged.

I nodded and then we left in opposite directions. Whereas after our last meeting I felt only excited for the future, now I felt both excitement and warmth. The warmth felt like sunlight upon my skin but deep within me.

At the tea I felt comfortable, though I said little. My cousin dominated all conversation and was his usual charming self. I let the conversation flow around me, though I did make sure to complement our hostess. When I said I hoped to see them again soon, I was only thinking of Miss Elizabeth. She gave me a shy smile, which I knew was her agreement for us to meet again in the morning.


	28. Anne's Demand

At dinner that night, Aunt Catherine commanded, "Tell me Darcy, how the outing to gather flowers went today."

I demurred, "I had little to do with that besides guard the ladies. You should ask Georgiana and Anne."

Lady Catherine fixed her eyes upon Georgiana (who was sitting beside Anne, a position she had never occupied before). Georgiana replied, "Oh, it was a grand success." She happily described all the specimens they had discovered and identified by looking at prints of drawings in a book they found in the Rosings library, adding, "Anne was especially pleased to find some purple flowers."

Lady Catherine turned to Anne and for the first time I can recall addressed her directly across the table while we dined. "Anne, what did you like about the purple flowers?" Her voice was gentler, slower and more soothing than was her usual wont.

Anne said nothing and then Lady Catherine moved on to other topics with the rest of us. Twenty minutes or more must have elapsed before Anne spoke her response. "Purple is for royalty."

"What is that, Anne?" Her mother asked, her eyebrows drawn together in what might be confusion.

"Purple is for royalty." Anne repeated. I knew immediately she was responding to her mother's earlier question and I thought that Georgiana understood that, too, but it seemed that we were the only ones to comprehend.

"Yes," Georgiana responded, turning toward Anne and smiling encouragingly at her. She also gave Anne a very tentative pat on the arm. "The purple flowers Anne found are of the color typically reserved for royalty. I dare say we all felt like royalty finding such beautiful flowers and so nearby."

"Which flowers did you find, Anne?" Again, the tone and way Lady Catherine spoke was far gentler than the way she usually spoke. This time she waited and we all did as well, though Georgiana and I were careful to only look at Anne indirectly. We did not want to discourage her from speaking with the intensity of our glances.

Perhaps it was only five minutes this time until Anne spoke. "Purple orchids and purple violets."

"I see," Lady Catherine responded. I wondered if she did see, that the orchids could only be found in the woods.

I recalled how we had all walked very, very slowly, Anne clutching Georgiana's and my arms, Mrs. Jenkinson remaining with the carriage. Anne's slippers had grown very dirty, but she did not seem aware, her eyes carefully scanning the ground and trees around us even as her breath grew louder and I grew concerned that perhaps it was too much strain.

When Anne had first appeared in her slippers that morning, Georgiana asked Anne, "Do you have any shoes that would be better for a walk?"

Anne made no response, so Georgiana asked the same of Mrs. Jenkinson, who responded, "She does not, Lady Catherine has seen no need for them." I suppose it made sense; an invalid had no need of walking shoes.

"I should like to see your flowers," Lady Catherine commented to Anne, "mayhap during our separation later."

Anne gave a slight nod and Lady Catherine responded with a broad smile, a smile that had she seen it on another's face she would have called indecorous. I had never seen such a smile on her face before. As for me, I could not help but smile in response, and saw that the rest of my dining companions had a similar reaction.

In the days that followed I continued to court Miss Elizabeth each morning and my sister continued to try to encourage Anne's independence. Each of us were making progress in our tasks.

I noticed that Anne was different now, or at least different than I had ever seen her before. She seemed to take more of an interest in the things beyond Rosings. Therefore, I was not so surprised at our next dinner when Anne spoke again.

I saw the whole sequence of events. Before we even came into dinner, Georgiana whispered something to Anne, who shook her head "no." I moved a little closer and caught the end of Georgiana's response, "When you are ready, then."

Dinner proceeded in the usual manner, Lady Catherine questioning Edwin, Georgiana and me, and largely ignoring the others. It was almost the end of the second remove when Anne asked Georgiana, "Now?"

Georgiana said quietly, I could barely hear her, "Certainly. It never hurts to ask."

Just then, Lady Catherine must have noticed their exchange, "Georgiana, what are you talking of with Anne? I must have my share of the conversation when she is willing to talk."

Anne decidedly turned her head and body away from her mother and tilted herself toward Georgiana. I suspected I knew what was bothering her, Lady Catherine was speaking loudly and determinedly. I saw Georgiana lay a hand upon Anne. Georgiana responded, "When Anne is ready, I am sure she will tell you what she is thinking about."

Lady Catherine made a loud harrumph, but then fell silent.

It was when we were enjoying some tarts made with preserves when Anne finally spoke, unprompted. She announced while looking at no one in particular, "I want to see some of the places the Tudors saw."

We waited and she said nothing more, so Georgiana supplied: "We have been investigating places that would be significant to the Tudors here in Kent. The Rosings library has many volumes on their history. Anne has expressed interest in taking a carriage for an outing to nearby locations after Easter."

"I fear that is impossible," Lady Catherine addressed Georgiana, "and I do think ill of you for putting such an idea in her head. Anne cannot go afar; her condition is much too delicate."

"We will take every precaution," Georgiana responded. I knew that Anne had fared well enough when looking for flowers, but I hardly wished to explain to my aunt that we had already tested Anne's endurance and suspected it sufficient to the task if she were given sufficient assistance.

I think I was the only one observing Anne as this discussion took place determining her fate without her. I saw her look straight at her mother and say, "I will go." And then before her mother could even respond: "I will go, I will go, I will go!" She screamed out, her anger surprising us all.

We were all shocked into silence, but soon enough I realized I should not have been. Although Anne typically seems to be turned inward in some contemplation that none of us can guess at, I certainly had my share of outbursts, especially as I child.

I could not but remember some terrible tantrums I had when I was not understood or when something was unexpectedly altered. I remembered shouting out, over and over, "No saddle!" All that had happened was my father had bought a new saddle for my pony because the old one was too worn. It was supposed to be a present for me as I had been doing well with my riding lessons. I screamed that phrase over and over as I loosened the new saddle from my pony and flung it off. I then ran into the stable and began rummaging through everything I could find, both looking for the old saddle and expressing my rage by throwing everything that was not my saddle as hard as I could.

I remember being scared of all my strong emotions that I could not control and raging, raging all the more when my father was summoned from his work and instructed the servants to hold me tight. I was beyond all words then, screaming and spitting like a wild animal caught in a trap. I do not like to think about what happened after that.

The next day I did not even go to the stable. The following day, after much cajoling from my mother, I went to the stable, saying the whole time, "No saddle, no saddle, no saddle."

However, I was silenced when I saw that my old saddle was back. I ran my hands over it, where it was perched. The brown leather was soft and smooth in most places, but there was a rough place where it was scratched and a thinner patch where the leather was starting to wear through and lighten in color. Although my fingers could not feel the difference, there were stains as well. I had been seeing my saddle every day but had not particularly noticed how it had gradually gotten worn.

However, I was still so angry even being reminded that it had once been gone that I did not go for a ride that day. I rode the next day but as I rode it came to me that my saddle was shabby, that perhaps the new saddle was not such a problem as it had seemed before. That evening when I saw my mother I asked, "New saddle?"

She asked, "Fitz, do you want your new saddle back?"

I responded, "See."

In the morning when I was taken to the stable, I saw both saddles laid out on a plaid woolen blanket outside my horse's stall. I walked round and round them, examining them from every angle, pausing now and then to touch them, to compare. Even though my resentment, it was clear to see that the new saddle was superior to the old in every way.

"This saddle," I said, patting the new saddle. A groom took it and saddled my horse. I rode upon the new saddle and scarcely noticed the difference.

I remembered another time when I was older and had more words and my mother was trying to replace my favorite coat which I had outgrown with another that was not the same. She had tried to prepare me: "Fitzwilliam, your coat is too small, and you need to wear another one when we visit the de Bourghs for Easter. Do you remember when you were measured? Two new coats have been made for you."

Mother showed them to me, and I ran my hands along the cloth. The texture on them was different but I liked the feel of them well enough, at least while those coats were just something to touch. I remember not being too upset, because she was not trying to make me wear a new one then.

However, when it was time to leave and my servant tried to place a new coat upon me, I crossed my arms and refused to slip them through the sleeves and shook the new coat off. He asked, "Do I need to get your father?"

I shook my head "no" while keeping my arms firmly crossed.

"Your mother?" he asked. I said nothing and just stood there. I wanted neither of them, but of the two my mother was least objectionable. While I was left alone, I managed to slip into my favorite old coat.

"Fitzwilliam," said my mother when she arrived, slightly flushed, "what is this that I am hearing about you not wearing your new coat. We talked about this already." She retrieved the fallen coat and told me, "Take off that old coat, right now."

I argued: "It is my coat, Mother. I do not need a new one. It is up to me to decide. Leave me alone, woman. My decision, a man decides. Me. Leave me alone. It is mine, my coat, mine." I wanted to rip the hated garments she was holding out to me but I resisted and told her so. "I want to rip them but I will not, men do not rip things. Why are you doing this to me?"

"You are angry, Fitzwilliam. It is alright to be angry. I do not understand why this makes you angry. You may keep your coat but you cannot wear it to Lady Catherine's home. You must be properly dressed as your father's heir."

I could not explain, I kept trying to use my words to keep her from doing what was wrong to me. I used my words and not my fists, but my words were angry and I loudly stomped. My feet would not break anything. She was firm but spoke in soothing tones. She thanked me for not ripping the new coat or breaking things. She listened to all my rude words. Later she held out the two new coats and asked me to choose which one I wanted to wear.

It took me hours to accept a new coat, but it was easier somehow when I was picking between the two. Then later when I finally tried on the coat I had selected, a fine navy blue coat which reached beyond my wrists and was looser across my chest, I realized it was not a bad coat. I could wear this coat. I did not need my old coat.

I wondered if this Anne before me would be more like my much younger self, taking out my rage on things, or more like I was when an older youth, able to restrain herself to angry words. Anne shouted once again: "I will go, Anne decides!" I think she did not want to be ignored by her mother. As far as I knew she had always been passive before, letting her mother make all decisions.

I understood then that Georgiana had unwittingly engaged in an act of rebellion against Lady Catherine by encouraging Anne's independence, making her believe she could go someplace on her own inclination, without that someplace being a definite place that my aunt could control. It was a risk to have Anne go and explore where others outside her small circle might observe how she was different and maybe even try to talk to her. As long as she was on the estate or sitting in her phaeton constricted by her companion and quiet, dumb, no one would know she was anything but a sedate sickly heiress. But now Anne had a desire for something beyond the estate and she was challenging the authority of her mother to get it.

I was not sure if anyone else knew that Anne was fighting for her freedom, to be allowed to seek out things for herself. To be sure she knew far less of the world than a woman of her age should, but did that mean she should remain confined forever?

I thought of how much I was tormented at school; and what happened once I left Hertfordshire. I had no wish for Anne to suffer similarly. But still, we could protect her somewhat if we were also present.

The anger I heard in Anne I well recognized. I was still undecided as to whether angry words would be enough for her, as I did not recall seeing her rage before. Would she start throwing things as I had when I first saw the new saddle? She was of age but had never made decisions like other young ladies, acted like someone much younger than her age.

"Anne, you know not what you ask for," Edwin interjected. "Your mother wishes to keep you safe. You _must_ remain at Rosings!""

"No, no, no!" Anne yelled and I saw her face go red. She grabbed her plate which bore two tarts and threw one and then the other at Edwin. He managed to lean out of the way of the first, which hit the wall and slid down it, leaving a small sticky red mark on the wallpaper, but the second caught him across the breast, the reddish jam exploding across him as if he had been bayonetted. He said nothing, simply swiped at the offending mark with his napkin, further grinding it into his light-colored coat.

But I hardly had time to observe this, as then Anne crashed her porcelain plate upon the floor. I could not see it fall, but I heard it make an impressive clatter as it shattered.

Anne began reaching for Georgiana's plate but I was already gesturing for it and Georgiana had the presence of mind to hand it across the table to me. However, Anne simply changed course and reached for Mrs. Jenkinson's plate, placing a hand upon it at the same time as the woman herself. Each of them tugged, but Anne was the more tenacious and she pulled on it so hard that she elbowed Georgiana in the process before crashing it down, also.

While this was occurring, Lady Catherine was gesturing to her footmen (dressed in a dark blue this week) and they began collecting the plates and the serving platters, taking one plate from Mrs. Annesley before she had even taken a bite of her tart. However, they were not quick enough to collect all the goblets and Anne managed to throw two of them and then several pieces of cutlery.

I was glad there were no sharp knives on the table as Anne threw one fork with enough force to make it impale a curtain to the wall. Although we were all busy ducking, I was expecting Lady Catherine to do something to have Anne restrained as my father would have done had it been me, but she seemed to be doing nothing other than trying to have her footmen take away Anne's weapons. The footmen, Lady Catherine and Mrs. Jenkinson did not seem surprised by Anne's actions, but Georgiana fled her seat by Anne to take refuge by my side and I led her to the far corner of the room to wait it out.

After a while there was not much left to break or throw, so Anne stood up and overturned her chair. She then leaned heavily on the table, breathing hard. No one spoke.

I noticed Anne gradually calming. A footman righted her chair and Anne sat down. I slowly led Georgiana to the table but sat her at my seat while I went to sit next to Anne in Georgiana's former seat.

"Are you well, Anne?" I asked after I gingerly seated myself.

Anne did not answer me directly but began muttering to herself over and over, "Anne go, Anne go. Will go, will go."

I noticed then, that rather than looking at Anne, Lady Catherine was glaring at Edwin. He noticed and shrugged but said nothing. Lady Catherine then turned to Anne and addressed her in that same, soft soothing voice as before. "You will go, Anne. We will plan a trip and I will accompany you. We will have to stay in inns and go in stages, but we shall all go together after Easter."

Even after Lady Catherine had conceded, Anne kept muttering to herself.

The plate of tarts was brought back, one footman holding the plate, another placing a napkin down before each of us and then the third used tongs to set a tart down on each napkin rather than on a fine plate. I noticed that each of the napkins serving as a plate was fraying and yellowing with age.

Anne ate her tart in two large bites and then licked the jam from her fingers. However, the look in her eyes made me wary that she might rage again at the slightest provocation.

After dinner, Georgiana excused herself, saying, "Lady Catherine, I am quite tired. I hope you will not mind if I take myself to bed."

"Not at all, dear child," Lady Catherine responded, her eyes lingering on Georgiana, "rest well."

I did not believe Georgiana's excuse and, so, said, "I shall escort you up to your room and return soon." Unlike Georgiana, I asked no one's permission.

As soon as we were out of sight, Georgiana slumped against me. I could feel her trembling and I quickly placed an arm around her. "Oh, Brother, that scared me so!" She nestled against me and even as I worried about her, I felt glad that she was taking comfort from me, that I had her trust.

"It is over now," I told her.

"Is it? Or shall it happen again at any time?" Her voice sounded like she might be about to cry. She told me, "I remember you similarly raging when I was yet a young child, but it has been so long that I almost forgot." She drew back a little and looked up at me. "Brother, I know you would never hurt me, but I was not sure Anne would not."

As I tried to reassure my dear sister, I wondered if I had made a mistake in encouraging her to become closer to Anne. "I would never let her harm you, but I doubt Anne had any wish to hurt anyone. I had to learn how to control myself and she can as well. Please try to be strong. I hope you will not give up on her."

"Likely I shall be ready to try with her again tomorrow, but now I will be more wary. It is clear she needs help and I want to do what I can."

We continued onto her room and I left Georgiana after giving her a kiss upon her forehead as I had when she was a little girl.

When I returned to the salon, Lady Catherine demanded, "Darcy, escort me to the library. I need your help with something."

I wondered if this was an excuse. What could I really help her with that a servant could not?

When we reached the library, she bid me sit on a sofa by the fire and then walked back in front of the fire quickly, back and forth, back and forth. In looking straight ahead I watched as the orange and yellow flames flickered in and out of view as she passed before the hearth in her light blue gown.

"What is it Lady Catherine?" I asked, when I grew tired of seeing her pacing.

"I hope that Georgiana is well," she told me, pausing directly in front of the fire and blocking it fully from my view.

"As well as can be expected after observing Anne's shocking display." I responded, candidly. "However, she does not plan to curtail her association with Anne. I have hope that no long-term damage has been done to their relationship."

"Anne is Anne," my aunt responded. "When you see Anne acting like that, I can imagine you well think poorly of both her and me. Perhaps you now understand now why I do not encourage her to go out into the world much. Can you imagine if she reacted that way in London at the Earl's home while they were entertaining guests?"

She gave me no opportunity to answer instead answering herself. "It is not to be borne! Still, you understand her better than most of the rest of us ever will. Doubtless you would know what best could be done to contain her. If I am fortunate, Anne will forget all about her little adventure before Easter comes. We do well enough for her at Rosings where everyone is familiar with how she is. Can you not tell your sister to find other hobbies for her that will keep Anne safe at home? Knitting perhaps as your mother did?"

"Georgiana does not knit," I explained.

"Well it would be rather gauche for her to knit, but surely Georgiana can introduce her to some other womanly art that is only done in the home. Please talk to her about it."

I nodded, not because I really planned to do it, but because my aunt was staring at me and I wanted to get her to break her stare. It worked and I thought for a moment that she might be done.

But then Lady Catherine walked closer to me and I saw that her eyes were glistening. She leaned over and toward me, grasping me by both shoulders and leaning in until her face was a mere handspan away. I found it very disconcerting but there was only so much room for me to lean back. I could both feel and smell her breath. It was warm and slightly sour.

Her voice cracked a little and became higher in pitch when she said, "Darcy, can you not see how much Anne needs the both of you?" She swallowed and I was drawn to seeing her neck move with that swallow before I looked back up at her eyes, surrounded by drooping skin.

"Before I am gone Anne must marry or she will come under the Earl's thumb and God help me I do not trust my brother with my daughter. But can you imagine what might happen if Anne married someone other than you? If she acted as she did today, he would be well within his rights to commit her to an asylum, but that would kill her. She needs protection, she needs caring, by people who understand. I do not know who that would be if not you."

I slid to the side and stood up. Now I was looking down at her. I told her, "I am sorry," and I truly was sorry even while I was resolute, "but I will not marry Anne."


	29. Easter Company

The next few days were busy ones. Every morning I was up early with my sister to meet Miss Elizabeth and then many activities followed during the rest of the day. I should have been tired with how little sleep I received, but instead I was energized and eager to greet each day even if I was now rising before the sun. I slept well each night with no bad dreams.

Upon Miss Elizabeth's suggestion, we had taken to meeting even earlier after those first meetings. She explained, "I am returning far too late to Mrs. Collins's home and though dear Charlotte has of yet made no objection, Maria keeps asking what has kept me away so long and Mr. Collins has mentioned more than once that it is not seemly for a single woman to be walking about for hours on end by herself. If we could just meet earlier, while they are still fast asleep, perhaps they will not notice the length of time I have been gone or not miss me at all."

Georgiana and I had thought it was a good plan but meeting earlier had not resulted in our concluding sooner. Almost every time Georgiana still had to urge us home. I hoped that since we had long since stopped having such intense conversations that it might mean, perhaps, that she was growing fond of me.

As for myself, my feelings were powerful things that desired physical expression, but I made sure to resist and conform to all proprieties. I had no wish to either besmirch her or scare her away from me. It was something like standing very still outside, to let squirrels and birds come nearer.

When concluding earlier did not work (although my rational mind determined each night before bed that I must exercise more self-control and pull myself away sooner, I could no more tear myself away earlier than a hunting dog can give up the chase before the game is caught), I proposed a counter-measure to Miss Elizabeth. "Certainly, we must skip some days in meeting in order to avoid suspicion. You might stay in the parsonage or go on a different walk of your own choosing."

Although she agreed, each time we parted that resolution was ignored when we made plans to meet again the next day. Perhaps a natural separation might have been forced if the weather had not been so fine, but as it was the good weather allowed us to indulge. I felt these things were a good sign Miss Elizabeth had grown to enjoy my company and God himself was blessing our time together.

We spent part of every morning together (part of the time with Georgiana, part of the time with her simply near), walking, talking and having long companionable silences. Walking together was most pleasurable. As I had expected Miss Elizabeth had no trouble keeping up with my long legs and while she took five long steps to each four of mine, we seemed well matched.

Although I could not see all of her light and pleasing figure from this vantage, I was keenly aware of feeling the slight weight of her small hand on my arm. My ears focused on the padding of her steps and the swish of her skirt that sometimes brushed against my nearer leg. While often I looked ahead, when I cared to, I could turn my head and see her face slightly inclined toward me and view her fine eyes, brown with just a hint of green. Often, I smelled a whiff of her soap and the sachet that must have scented her clothes.

I wondered what her skin would taste like if I dared to bare her hand and kiss it but I was in all ways as proper in my conduct as I could be, except for talking most freely about topics not usually raised in polite conversation. While we had an unspoken agreement not to speak of love, courtship or marriage, we discussed many weighty subjects. We discussed Napoleon and the politics of our land. We discussed moral dilemmas and how one could understand God's plan for us. I found her remarkably well informed with opinions not adopted wholesale from any one source. The more I learned of her, the more certain I became that she was the bride for me.

I could tell Georgiana had grown fond of Miss Elizabeth also. Twice or thrice they even dismissed me so they could walk and talk alone. The first time I paced back and forth, feeling fearful. I had felt Miss Elizabeth and I were growing closer and was hopeful that I would earn the right to hold her ribbon again but during those few minutes I felt my palms become damp and my heart race. Could Miss Elizabeth be telling Georgiana this must all end?

When they returned, Georgiana must have seen my distress because she reassured me before I even said a word, "All is well, Brother." By then there was only time to exchange a quick goodbye with Miss Elizabeth, but her smile was as sweet as ever.

Afterwards on our walk back to Rosings, Georgiana told me, "Stop fretting Brother." She squeezed my arm three times and I felt myself relax a little.

"Thank you, Georgiana."

"I shall tell you all about it. Miss Elizabeth simply asked me what it was like having you as a brother and what I did to ease your way. I told her that sometimes I observe your meetings and tell you afterward about the things you may have missed with facial expressions, sarcasm, the general mood of the other that I observed."

I nodded and she continued, "I told her that when you are anxious, I try to reassure you. I explained that sometimes I can use humor to lighten your darker moods, but I must make clear what I am doing, almost exaggerate the humor through my tone. I told her that I always do my best to show you that you are valued and loved, that this is probably the most important thing I do, but that it is a pleasure doing so because you are loyal, kind and true, and the best brother I could have."

"How did she react to all the information?" Although I did not doubt that Georgiana tried to cast all she does for me in a positive light and I knew we needed to be honest with Miss Elizabeth, I was worried that perhaps Miss Elizabeth had learned too much, too soon.

"I believe it went very well. Afterwards, Miss Elizabeth asked what she could do herself to aid you. I told her that at this juncture, she should just endeavor to talk candidly with you, to put into straight-forward words what she was thinking and feeling."

The next time they walked without me, I did not worry so much. Again, Georgiana told me what they discussed. "I told her all the silly feelings I felt for George which I was quite convinced at the time was love, but looking back on it, I just wanted to feel something after living with all our grief. It was easier to believe a lie, to live in a pretend world for a while. Miss Elizabeth reassured me that real love takes times to grow."

"Did she mention how she feels toward me?" I asked.

Georgiana disappointed me but saying, "She did not," adding, "but I can tell that she is coming to care for you."

The third time they exchanged confidences, I was not alarmed, even afterwards when Georgiana would not tell me exactly what confidences they exchanged. Georgiana did reassure me, "It is nothing for you to worry about. It would be lovely to gain her as a sister."

That night I considered what they might have talked about with one another. Was it grounds for hope or fear? I was unsure, but as we were meeting again that morning, I decided it could be nothing bad.

The next morning as we walked, Miss Elizabeth asked, "Mr. Darcy, I have been meaning to inquire, why have you not called again at the parsonage. The Colonel has called twice."

I confessed, "Although I would dearly love to see you twice in one day, I am not good at pretending things are different than they are. I fear my admiration of you would be too obvious and I cannot bear to be aloof with you again. Soon enough I expect you all will be invited to Rosings and that will be difficult enough."

It rained heavily that night, which was the night before Easter. Easter morning it was still drizzling. Georgiana and I observed the outside from a window. She told me with regret what I myself knew, "It is just too wet this morning for a walk, if not for the continuing rain, it would still be impossible because of the mud."

"Perhaps it is just as well," I told Georgiana. "We have not gone so much as one morning without walking. On this day, the day of the resurrection of our Lord, I should be focused on the things of heaven and not of this world." She squeezed my arm and said nothing.

Although I had some doubt whether Lady Catherine would still want to attend services given the rain, she did not let it dissuade her, but she did leave Anne at home with Mrs. Jenkinson. I went on horseback as I always do, leaving before the others as keeping my horse to a walk was the only way to keep from getting muddy.

At church I caught a glimpse of Miss Elizabeth. I felt now that it would be impossible not to know her, even from behind. When our eyes met, I gave her a slight nod and she smiled.

During the service I did my best to focus on the hope we might have for eternal life because of our Lord. However, I found myself longing for a blessed life with Miss Elizabeth in this world.

Had He heard my prayer months ago? Would He bless me with her love, just as I was? During the final prayer, I felt a peace settle over me. While I knew nothing was yet resolved I believed it would be.

That peace partially dissipated when Lady Catherine announced after we returned to her home, "What a dreary day it is, so as to liven things up I have invited the Collinses and their guests to come to Rosings for the evening after dinner."

"Capital," responded Edwin. "I for one will welcome seeing the lovely Miss Bennet again. Mrs. Collins has been most hospitable, but I wish that Miss Lucas was not such a scared little thing." He raised one eyebrow and added, "It is almost as if my reputation proceeds me." Then he laughed.

Lady Catherine ignored Edwin and commented, "Miss Bennet plays. I am sure she will be willing to entertain us again."

I do not know if Lady Catherine meant her statement as a slight on my sister, but I saw my sister bite her lip, clasp her hands and look down at her lap. Georgiana had not yet played the pianoforte for our aunt on this visit, even though Lady Catherine had asked somewhat impatiently on more than one occasion, "Whenever will you be ready to play for us? Surely you have practiced enough."

While I longed to see Miss Elizabeth, I dreaded having to feign indifference toward her. I found myself being envious of my sister who would be able to talk freely with my love while I would have to hold back.

That evening after the initial greetings individual conversational groups formed: Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley with Miss Lucas; Anne and Mrs. Jenkins with Mrs. Collins; Edwin with Miss Elizabeth (I wanted to join them but felt I could not); leaving me by default grouped with my aunt and Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins had many compliments to pay to Lady Catherine, saying things such as, "Oh Lady Catherine, you are much too kind to have condescended to bless me, Mrs. Collins and our guests with this invitation at the lovely Rosings, the jewel of Kent." He then spent several minutes praising everything within his view.

Lady Catherine seemed to enjoy his fawning. I was merely bored but made an effort to be engaged as his letters had aided me. It was difficult, however, as my ears were straining to hear any part of Edwin and Miss Elizabeth's conversation which was to my left and behind me, while Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins were to my right. Usually I could only hear the tone of their voices but sometimes heard a word or two. I heard, "pleased" "lovely" "enjoying." There seemed to be no awkwardness between them, conversation flowing easily.

I was pulled back into listening to Mr. Collins when he made a slight bow in my direction and said, "Mr. Darcy, I dare hope that my intelligence as to what occurred in Hertfordshire after you left was of use to you. I must once again apologize for my disrespectful cousins."

"What is that?" Aunt Catherine's attention was caught. "Who was disrespectful to Darcy?" The expression she made was that of someone smelling something particularly vile.

I felt embarrassed; while Mr. Collins had stated he wrote to me based on my aunt's advice, I hoped that she did not know the whole of what had occurred and I feared that all of those present could not help but hear Mr. Collins's loud voice.

"Do you not recall it Lady Catherine? I told you all about how a Mr. George Wickham said vicious things about Mr. Darcy and soon had many believing all manner of falsehoods about him, my young cousins included."

Mr. Collins's mouth was open as he apparently prepared to say more when my aunt interjected, "Darcy, I have told you time and time again that you must take Fitzwilliam with you when you are traveling. He would have put a stop to all nonsense right away!"

That was the last thing I wanted. I needed friends and not a nursemaid. I wondered, not for the first time, how Edwin must feel in being expected to order his life around accompanying me. I wondered whether, perhaps, Edwin might want me to marry Anne so that he might give up his duties toward me. I thought about what it would be like to, though no longer under the command of his general because he retired from the army, still be under the command of his father the earl and be assigned to serve me. I had not considered that maybe he wanted his own life, his own wife.

I turned to look at him for a moment. I could tell that as usual Edwin was being charming. I envied his ease with Miss Elizabeth.

I wondered if Edwin might have a tendre regarding Miss Elizabeth. Was all his calling on the parsonage his own attempt at courting? I saw Miss Elizabeth glance my way and I averted my eyes. Was I selfish to want Miss Elizabeth for me? She cared not for the wealth I had, would she not prefer a comfortable home with a man she did not have to struggle to understand, who would always know the right way to act? I felt foolish for trying to court her.

My aunt must have been curious as to why I was glancing at Miss Elizabeth because soon she, too, was looking in Edwin's and Miss Elizabeth's direction. She did not scruple to call out, "What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."

I wondered if he was annoyed. If he was, he did not show it in any way I could discern.

"We are speaking of music, Madame," said he.

"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully."

I saw Lady Catherine turn toward Georgiana to make sure she had been attending and ask, "Georgiana, how does your playing progress?"

"Very well, Madame," Georgiana answered.

"You cannot expect to excel," Lady Catherine instructed, "unless you practice a great deal."

She turned towards Mrs. Jenkinson, "Mrs. Jenkinson, has my niece been practicing diligently on your instrument every day?"

"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Jenkinson responded, "for hours every day."

Lady Catherine turned back toward me. "And Darcy, is she equally diligent at Pemberley?"

"Very much so." I was glad I could honestly give a very favorable report. "She plays the most delightful tunes that are a balm to me when I feel troubled. She has developed a very discerning ear. Recently she was able to match a tune to a few lyrics I recalled our mother singing. I assure you, Madame, that she practices very constantly."

"I am glad to hear it. It cannot be done too much." She turned back to Georgiana, "I charge you not to neglect it on any account. I often tell young ladies, that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice." Here was advice that Georgiana could follow faithfully as it already her inclination. I could already imagine if she practiced less than typical one day, using an imitation of our aunt's speech and voice to gently tease her.

Not content to have only myself, Georgiana and Mr. Collins listening to her wisdom, Aunt Catherine turned towards Miss Elizabeth and Edwin. "I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well, unless she practices more; and though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."

Lady Catherine brought her eyebrows together (my aunt has a very expressive face, which makes understanding her a bit easier), and then glanced at Georgiana. "However, now that Georgiana is practicing on Mrs. Jenkinson's instrument for so much of every day, I may need to suggest alternative arrangements for Miss Bennet. I believe Mrs. Hall in the village has an instrument but it may be out of tune as the piano in our attic would inevitably be."

"Madame," Georgiana cried out, "I am happy to share any instrument at Rosings with Miss Bennet. It would be delightful to play music with her."

"Very well," our aunt replied, "when, Georgiana, when would you like Miss Bennet to practice with you? I am sure her skills will improve rapidly if she takes you as her example. Though she is the elder, you can pass on some wisdom from your masters."

I was embarrassed by my aunt's manners but also intrigued that Miss Elizabeth might more often be at Rosings. Georgiana blushed, then very formally asked, "Miss Elizabeth, would you join me in practicing on Mrs. Jenkinson's pianoforte at half past three on the morrow?"

"I would be very pleased to accept," said she and smiled before quickly glancing at me.

Edwin, who was still beside her, leaned a bit closer and spoke to her alone, "Miss Bennet, if you plan to regularly grace Rosings with your presence, I hope you will visit all of us when you have your fill of practicing. I, for one, would welcome your delightful company." I was troubled that they seemed to be on such an intimate footing with one another.

"That is very kind of you," Miss Elizabeth responded. I could not help but notice that she had not exactly accepted.

Edwin smiled, took a step closer to her and responded as if she had agreed, "I look forward to being in your company more." I did not like seeing that at all.

After we drank our coffee—I have no recollection of its flavor, good or bad, so focused was I in trying to understand the soft words Miss Elizabeth and Edward exchanged, to find out why she laughed—I heard Edwin say a little louder, "Miss Elizabeth, surely you recall promising me that you would play the pianoforte for me."

"Indeed, I shall," she responded, "should Lady Catherine think it a fine time to exhibit."

Edwin immediately took the matter up with Lady Catherine, who said, "Indeed I am ready for some entertainment, Miss Bennet and . . ." her eyes swept over to focus on my sister before she continued, ". . . anyone else who might wish to play is more than welcome to do so." However, as Miss Elizabeth walked forward toward the instrument, Lady Catherine walked further away and began to speak to Mrs. Collins about draperies.

Without any conscious thought I found myself standing quite near the pianoforte where the fair performer was in full view. She had a confidence about her as she placed her hands (now stripped of her gloves which she had placed on her lap), just over the keys in preparation. There was no music on the pianoforte.

Miss Elizabeth began by playing a simple folk song. As her fingers danced along the keys, her face became brighter, her eyes more focused.

I was surprised when she began to speak with me while still playing. "Mr. Darcy," said she with a smile that I recognized to be different than that with which she now greeted me each morning, "do you know the words to this song?"

I then realized that I was softly singing along without any awareness of the deed. The lyrics to _Miss Bailey's Ghost_ would be ones that undoubtedly would offend my aunt, but I was sorely tempted to sing at a proper volume to her playing.

"Yes, indeed, but Lady Catherine, I dare say, does not. She might find the words of this song rather uncouth for her parlor."

"I will not be alarmed," Miss Elizabeth replied, raising her eyebrows slightly and then giving a wink. "There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me. Lady de Bourgh is grand indeed but I shall enjoy my evening."

She altered the song to provide a bridge to the beginning and began to sing. Her tones were clear and bright and I joined in with vigor after a word or two. I am not a particularly brilliant singer but can carry an adequate tune. She then began to harmonize with my singing and I was enchanted by being enveloped in the song.

After a few more words Edwin arose and came to join us, standing on Miss Elizabeth's other side. He joined in, singing loudly the bawdiest words: "Seduced a maid who hanged herself one morning in her garters." He gave both of us a broad grin between verses.

I smiled, too. This was the Edwin of my childhood who delighted in teaching me inappropriate words, but then got me out of trouble.

I saw Georgiana rise and join us, standing between me and Edwin. Because she did not know the words she supported us with her presence. I felt overwhelming joy that we were all together in this moment.

As the words and notes faded away, I awaited a scolding by my aunt. It did not come just then. However, she said firmly in a voice that would brook no opposition, "Georgiana, you must play the next piece."

"Yes, Madame." Georgiana responded.

While Georgiana was waiting for a servant to fetch her music from Mrs. Jenkinson's room, Lady Catherine commented, "Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practiced more, and could have the advantage of a London master to teach her appropriate songs."

I felt the barb aimed at Miss Elizabeth and could not help but defend her: "No one admitted to the privilege of hearing Miss Bennet play and sing can think anything wanting." Aunt Catherine made no reply but stared at me for a few moments with sharp eyes that cut into me. I very much wanted to tell her to quit looking at me but kept my peace.

Georgiana began dutifully playing a complex piece while Mrs. Jenkinson turned the pages for her. It was technically proficient, but Georgiana did not seem to be enjoying herself. Perhaps it was because Lady Catherine was standing close at hand.

At the conclusion of the piece, Lady Catherine offered, "My dear child, I can see you have been working very diligently. Well done."

I did not have the privilege of speaking to Miss Elizabeth further that evening, for shortly thereafter Lady Catherine beckoned a servant and ordered, "Send word for the preparation of my carriage to drive the Collinses and their guests to the parsonage." To my mind, my aunt was displeased by Miss Elizabeth's earlier performance and this was a dismissal.

I wondered if the invitation for Miss Elizabeth to practice at Rosings would be revoked by Lady Catherine, but she said nothing when they left besides, "I wish you all a most pleasant evening."

As they departed Georgiana grasped Miss Elizabeth's hand and told her, "I depend on us playing together on the morrow."

Miss Elizabeth smiled and confirmed, "I certainly shall come." I wondered if there was any way for me to be present.


	30. Dishonorable Intentions

The day after Easter dawned bright if cold. I arose with the sun, went outside and waited in the rose gardens for Georgiana. After waiting impatiently for a good long while, I had just resolved to go back to the house to look for her when Edwin walked up to me.

"Whomever could you be waiting for Darcy?" He asked me, cocking one eyebrow. Although the eyebrow movement was different from how Miss Elizabeth had raised hers when inviting me to sing the lyrics of _Miss Bailey's Ghost_ , I felt there was a similarity in the purpose of the two movements. Last night I had felt in on the joke and this morning I felt like a joke was being played on me.

My mask was firmly in place when I answered, hoping desperately that he did not know what I now suspected he did. "Just Georgiana. We have become fond of a morning constitutional. Have you seen her this morning?"

"Lady Catherine found a task to keep her busy and you know what a dutiful niece she is." His voice was conversational and unhurried. He added, "Fitz, you have realized, have you not, that your jaunts have not gone unnoticed by us. Last night Lady Catherine suggested that if you are determined to keep seeing Miss Bennet every morning that I should accompany you instead of Georgiana." Then he smirked.

Despite my best efforts I felt my face get hot and began to sweat despite the coolness of the morning. I knew I was caught but made no answer. One thing that I knew for sure was that I would not be taking Edwin to see her.

"I understand as I have cast my eye on her as well." Edwin talked nonchalantly in the same manner as if he were discussing the weather or the state of the roads.

I said nothing. He continued, "There are not many maids who have so much spirit. She is attractive enough if on the small size and has reasonably good teeth and hair."

I felt myself becoming angry. He was talking about Miss Elizabeth much as he would talk about a horse he was interested in purchasing, but I remained silent, naming to myself the roads I would pass on an intricately complicated section of London.

Edwin scratched his chin and then rubbed the side of his nose with one finger. His eyes then looked up at mine until the look was a steady stare. I felt he was daring me to break eye contact, to look away to let him claim some sort of supremacy over me, to put me in my place. Although my eyes almost burned with having to hold his gaze, I was determined to not give him the satisfaction.

He broke our gaze, looked over Rosings fields to the trees that lay beyond it, almost as if he was trying to see the place where I had met with Miss Elizabeth. Edwin said calmly, as if discussing something of no importance, perhaps a small stain he wished his valet to address, "If I thought Miss Bennet would be willing to give me a tumble, I would freely enjoy such entertainment. To think, even now I might be meeting her and enjoying her favors under the cover of the trees, feeling her tremble beneath me. I imagine she has a passionate nature that I might enjoy again and again if I but could persuade her to accept my protection."

Then Edwin turned back to me and smiled. It was a terribly smile, one that made something deep inside me clench and tense. I felt my hands ball into fists, my teeth press tightly against each other. How was it that mere hours earlier I had considered making way for him if he could make her happy as his wife, and now I was hearing how he did not respect her, would just use her for his own amusement? I began to feel very sick indeed.

Edwin must have seen something in my look for he clarified, "I believe Miss Bennet to be too virtuous to be tempted by me with my meager coffers, I hardly have enough scratch to keep the woman I have and could not afford fancy bobbles or a luxurious manner of living for another left-handed wife, but that is no reason that you should not see if she will lift her skirts for you and perhaps be amenable to a longer-term arrangement."

He tapped a finger against his lips several times before giving a little nod and adding. "However, if seduction is what you want, you need to stop bringing your sister when you meet. You do not want her to think you are too honorable before you make your offer. It would not do for her to think she might be wife when that role will fall to Anne."

I am not particularly violent by nature since I have become an adult. I carefully control myself and think things through before I act. But at that moment I felt myself begin to shake and heard a roar in my ears. Edwin was still talking, at least I judged he was because his lips continued to move and flash his teeth, but it was as if I were under water. I could no longer hear his words. In my rage (for a tiny, rational part of me judged that I was enraged before it was snuffed out), I wanted to pummel him to the ground or challenge him to a duel.

Somehow, I was able to exert some control, but my recollection of what happened next was disjointed, fragmented, as my rationality, the thing that makes me man and not beast was overcome by my emotions. I knew that like a child, I ran away but how exactly I found myself back in my chambers was unclear. But once there, I began pacing back and forth like a confined wild animal and saying to myself over and over "How could he, how could he, how could he!"

As time passed, I did not fully calm down but began to think more clearly. I hoped Miss Elizabeth would not be too disappointed that Georgiana and I did not meet her as usual, but what if Edwin had sought her out without me? I crept quietly from my room to try to discover his whereabouts. I breathed a little easier, less tightness in my chest, when I heard his voice and that of Lady Catherine. I could not make out what they were saying until I was almost to the door. I only heard him say, "I think you indeed have cause to worry."

I let my steps fall a little louder before I opened the dining room door. He fell silent.

I schooled my face and joined them for breakfast, endeavoring to not show my feelings. I was largely silent as my thoughts were full of Elizabeth.

Georgiana joined us several minutes later bearing a full sheet of paper written in her close hand. She walked up to me and lightly squeezed my fingers as she went by. That was her way of trying to reassure me. I wondered if it was about her missing our walk or if she could tell something else was wrong.

"Madame," Georgiana waited for Lady Catherine's acknowledgment, here a slight nod of her head, "as you requested, I have assembled a list of the places that Anne wishes to go on our tour. As we previously discussed, she has not forgotten about your promise. Indeed, this morning she awoke early and was pestering Mrs. Jenkinson in asking, 'Are we going today?' And as soon as she saw me, she did the same. She is clearly impatient for plans to be made as now Easter is passed, even though she has a bit of dropsy (likely yesterday was a bit much for her). She wanted to discuss other areas we may tour, but I did my best to keep her focused on the nearest locations in Kent. I do not think she will insist on seeing all of them at one time, however this should be a good start in making plans and you should expect her to look further afield to London in the future."

Lady Catherine took the list, giving Georgiana another slight nod and looked past Georgiana in my general direction. I found Lady Catherine's silence odd. Usually she was all too free in giving us her wisdom whether it was desired or not.

Lady Catherine then pressed her lips tightly together, which I remember my tutor explaining could mean someone was angry. I wondered if she was angry that Anne was ill yet again, though at least Georgiana had not mentioned any problems with her breathing or pain in her chest.

I remembered that it was common when we were children for Anne to be ill, usually with a very sore throat and fever. Sometimes she got a rash and had trouble breathing. I remember my mother ending one visit to Rosings after only one week when Anne developed the red cheeks and rash of scarlet fever. My mother was certain something was very wrong when she told us months later that Anne's hands and feet were moving in St. Vitus's dance. But since we were adults, she had never seemed that ill, but she had to be kept from over-exerting herself.

Perhaps, though, if Lady Catherine was angry it had nothing to do with Anne. Perhaps she was angry at me. I wondered what exactly Edwin and Lady Catherine had been discussed. Could he have been discussing my intentions or interest in Miss Elizabeth? Then I had another thought. Could it be possible that his remarks on this morning were a test?

I ate something as I thought, but I am not sure what it was. Perhaps toast? I drank a couple of sips of bitter coffee and then could stomach no more. Still, I did not want to leave the table, to not know where Edwin was.

I desperately wanted to talk to Miss Elizabeth alone or with Georgiana but was not sure how that could be accomplished. I felt that my aunt would repeatedly contrive tasks to keep Georgiana from walking with me in the mornings.

While Lady Catherine would be unlikely to try to command me as she did my sister and I could undoubtedly set off for a walk myself, I dared not try to meet with Miss Elizabeth alone in the grove. I would never risk her reputation with that type of an assignation.

Additionally, I feared that Edwin really did intend to join us. I pictured setting off alone on foot only to hear the pounding hooves of his stallion as he quickly caught up and passed me while astride his horse.

There was always the possibility of seeing Miss Elizabeth if their party was invited to Rosings but I could not say what I needed to in a room filled with listening ears. I had no doubt any practice on the pianoforte would be closely guarded by Mrs. Jenkinson and I could not enter Mrs. Jenkinson's chambers where their practices were to be held.

There was always the option of calling at the parsonage. Perhaps Mrs. Collins would have some sympathy on my plight if Miss Elizabeth had shared with her particular friend. While Mr. Collins presented a challenge, I understood he was often occupied with his garden and other duties. I resolved to approach the parsonage during visiting hours and hope Mrs. Collins proved to be an indulgent chaperone.

After a while, confident that Miss Elizabeth had long ago returned to the parsonage after her morning walk, I excused myself from breakfast and announced, "I believe I shall go and read in the library." Indeed, I read there for the better part of an hour in case anyone checked. It was not unusual for me to spend a portion of a day inside the library occupied by books. When I was certain it was late enough that the Collinses would be prepared for visitors, I carefully escaped the house for the parsonage.

It would have been a pleasant walk if I had not been anxious about being observed. I kept glancing about, startling when a squirrel dropped from a tree and caused a slight crunching of moldering leaves, but I saw no one. However, just in case I had missed a stealthy spy, for misdirection I first set out for the village before turning and taking a longer but more secluded path toward the parsonage.

Luck was with me when I observed Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas, but not Miss Elizabeth, exiting the front door of the parsonage. I was far enough to one side that Miss Lucas did not observe me, the edges of her bonnet undoubtedly helping to conceal me from her view. I could tell that Mrs. Collins saw me as we nodded at each other, but as if by mutual agreement we did not voice our greetings. It was as if both of us were eager to not alert Miss Lucas to my presence.

Mrs. Collins kept walking, though she subtly pointed behind herself at the closed door before turning her head toward her sister and saying, "Ah Maria, do you see over there what a bright color of green the new leaves are?"

"Yes, yes, Kent right now is remarkably green," Miss Lucus observed, seemingly without much interest in the foliage.

Once they had passed my position, I slowed down my place, stopping to admire some trees. I waited until they were out of sight and presumably out of earshot before approaching the front door.

I knocked and to the answering servant, their maid of all trade, asked, "Are the Collinses accepting callers?"

The maid, a woman with red hair and so many freckles that it was unclear where some began and ended, responded, "Come with me," and showed me to the parlor, saying, "Mr. Darcy, go right in," before scurrying away.

When I entered the room, I observed Miss Elizabeth putting away what appeared to be some correspondence. If only she could write to me! She looked up at me and gestured to a seat. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy." She smiled and I felt myself smiling back, the worries from earlier fading away.

"Why good morning Miss Elizabeth, I must apologize for my intrusion; I thought all the ladies were within." I knew I would have to be careful to guard what I said in case the maid decided to listen. I began, "Miss Elizabeth, I understand you are fond of walking."

"Indeed I am." She glanced down at her shoes which were sturdy walking shoes with still a hint of mud even though they must have been wiped clean earlier. I saw a bit of mud on the bottom edge of her petticoats. It reminded me of when she had walked to Netherfield to care for her sister. She looked back up at me and I observed that her eyes were bright. It came to me that she seemed happy, happy to see me.

I asked, "Were you able to enjoy a walk this morning?"

She smiled again and responded that she had, but stated, "I did not enjoy it half as much as those I took in the previous week. Something was lacking."

I smiled back, "Georgiana and I are also found of walking, but I fear we were detained from the pleasure this morn."

"Perhaps you may walk again tomorrow?"

I vigorously shook my head no and did my best to make my face show sadness. I was glad that she seemed to miss me. "Lady Catherine needs Georgiana's help. Fitzwilliam offered to accompany me," again I shook my head no, "but he has different ideas of how I should occupy my time."

"I understand." She smiled at me again and I wanted to bask in her smile like a cat in the sun. If there was a map to earning her hand, how close I was to reaching my destination?

I recollected the purpose of my call. While I had reassured her of my regard, explained our absence and that we would not be able to continue our morning walks, the most important purpose of my visit was not yet accomplished.

How was I to warn her about Edwin? Would he act as he had suggested? I had always believed him to be a man of honor, even though we might have different ideas about what was honorable when it came to women. I could not imagine ever keeping a mistress as he did, but I did not think him so low as to intentionally set out to seduce and ruin a gentlewoman. He was deliberate in all he did, much less impulsive and mean spirited than George. I hoped that the cousin I loved, the companion of my youth, the older boy who was patient and kind, would never be capable of such a thing, but I also knew he had seen too much from his time in the cavalry, had seen the worst of the human condition.

How might a man who had lived through war change? How might his actions be altered? I had enough self-awareness to know that I was not the best at predicting other people's behavior. Therefore, if there was even a chance he might act wrongfully toward Miss Elizabeth, it was important that I warn her about him.

I wondered; how could I accomplish this goal? Then I thought of a way, if only she could recall our conversation from that dance at Netherfield when George Wickham was the topic of conversation.

I told her, "Fitzwilliam is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure him _making_ friends but . . . ." I paused, straightened up and looked at her, waiting.

Miss Bennet tensed her brow for a moment, but it was as if I could see the moment that she understood, for her forehead relaxed, her eyebrows raised, her eyes gleamed and she finished, "He will not retain mine."

She had understood! We exchanged nods which acknowledged what we had accomplished.

There was so much more I wanted to say to her, but I settled for asking Miss Elizabeth, "Tell me, what do you think of Kent?"

I did not pay much attention to her answer, instead let myself relax a bit and simply breathe. Thus, were we safely occupied by discussing a mundane topic when Mrs. Collins and Miss Lucas returned.

I made sure to tell them, "When I came to call, I had no idea that all the ladies were not within. We have merely been exchanging a few pleasantries while waiting for your return."

Although I knew Mrs. Collins knew better, she said nothing about seeing me earlier. Instead she said, "Mr. Darcy, you are always welcome in our home. Please feel welcome to call as often as it would please you to do so. We must all take advantage of the time when dear Eliza and Maria are here."

I thanked her but said nothing much after that. After I had been there for a few minutes, Mrs. Collins mentioned, "Mr. Collins should be back soon, so if you have other plans for your morning you might well be away." I thanked her for her kindness, made my regrets and left before I might be entertained by Mr. Collins.

I wondered for not the first time how Mrs. Collins coped with being married to that buffoon. I resolved yet again that I would never be yoked with someone that I did not love as I loved Miss Elizabeth.


	31. Insisting on Marriage

On my walk back to Rosings I thought of how much I had to tell my sister. However, I needed to consider just what to tell her. I was not sure of the extent of Edwin's perfidy. Perhaps he had evil intent or perhaps he wished to determine whether my interest in Miss Elizabeth would prevent me from marrying Anne. However, when back at Rosings I was unable to have so much as a moment alone with Georgiana as Lady Catherine kept her occupied until almost the moment that Miss Elizabeth arrived.

As I was determined to glimpse Miss Elizabeth again, even if for only a few moments, I made sure I was in the parlor with Georgiana. Unfortunately, however, Lady Catherine was present also. While Edwin had hinted that Lady Catherine knew all, I hoped that he had exaggerated.

If only Lady Catherine had not been there, I could have drunk my fill in gazing upon Miss Elizabeth, but as it was, I only indulged in surreptitious glances. These were enough for me to decide that she continued to look very lovely in the pale green gown I saw her in earlier that day, but her appearance was enhanced by a faint blush to her cheeks with eyes brightened by her walk.

We barely exchanged greetings when my aunt instructed, "Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth, you must not on any account delay your practice. Miss Elizabeth has much to learn from your tutelage."

Before I knew it, I was alone in the room with Lady Catherine. From the sour look upon her face (like someone who tried eating a lemon), I anticipated, rightly as it turned out, that I was to be chastised.

Lady Catherine stood up and came over toward where I was sitting, a finger already waggling as if preparing to scold me. I arose, which made me much taller than she and this must have displeased her for she placed her hands on her hips and shook her head "no" several times before asking, "What are you doing, Darcy, showing a preference for Miss Bennet? You are raising expectations that can never be satisfying and harming that young woman in the process. How will she ever be happy to accept a man of her own sphere after your interference?" It was plain that she did not want me to answer as she kept speaking rapidly with no pause between her questions.

"You have been promised to my Anne since you were both in your cradles! You are destined for each other with both of you descended from the same noble maternal line that has produced earls, with your fathers being from respectable, honorable and ancient, though untitled families. Your mother and I planned it. I know not how Miss Bennet has drawn you in with her arts and allurements, but it is a mere infatuation. She is a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world. She is without connections or fortune and from a different sphere, with uncles in trade and a cousin in Mr. Collins. She is suitable company, I suppose, to offer momentary diversion to your sister, but she is more likely to end up as a governess than recognized at court!"

As she drew in a breath to continue her tirade, I interrupted, determined that I would shrink no more in declaring me intent to all. "Who I chose to court and wed can be no concern of yours! My age and estate give me leave to offer for any gently bred woman I choose. I have no doubt in my choice and it shall never be your daughter. I ardently love and admire Miss Elizabeth Bennet, though with how I am, I am far from worthy of her hand. If she will be mine, I would be the most fortunate of men."

Naturally, my aunt was not willing to concede. She is most used to everyone deferring to her, so it was not surprising to me. She simply got louder and more emphatic, gesturing wildly as she spoke. "Surely my Anne is a much superior choice. She brings with her a vast fortune which would allow you two estates for your sons to inherit. Moreover, you owe it to your family to protect your cousin Anne when I am gone. Surely you recognize with your affinities you will guard her better than anyone else can. Think, Darcy, think! Do not be selfish, you owe it to our family to be the protector Anne needs."

Although my aunt continued to be strident, her eyes seemed to grow a bit wet, her nose to redden a little, and she took a moment to blow her nose on her handkerchief before continuing. "Your own sister has recognized her worth and helped Anne make progress in her desire to explore beyond the confines of this estate, but she will still need a gentle shepherding hand. If you are finally ready to take a wife, the choice is obvious, it must be Anne."

When she finally paused long enough for me to speak again, I was determined to be heard. "Madame, Anne shall always have my loyalty as my cousin. I vow to do all I can to help her short of ever courting or marrying her. It is good that you desire her well being as any mother would but joining our deficits in marriage would not be for our good. She is not ready to marry anyone. In many ways she remains but a child. I have hope for her improvement but marrying me will not cure her. I fear her health must at all times be closely guarded and frequent trips between here and Pemberley would strain her heart. Moreover, I do not love her as a husband should love a wife."

My aunt sighed and continued to shake her head, "no" but seemed to lose the vigor with which she had been making her case. She sat down in the chair beside my own and so, I, too, sat down as well. Her normally erect frame slumped. Softer now, she told me, "Fitzwilliam agrees you are the best choice for her husband. If not you, then who? I considered him for Anne, asked if he might ever consider marrying her but he laughed and said, 'If I were to marry a cousin, I would sooner wed Georgiana. Although she comes with a dowry rather than an estate like Anne, I would rather live simply with a true wife than be saddled with a defective.' I think he could see how this hurt me, for he apologized for his words, but it is clear he is not the man for her."

Lady Catherine steepled her fingers and stared at them rather than looking at me. Softer now, as if she was just talking to herself, she said, "His brothers may be worse; I have heard the youngest receives the favors of actresses. My brother the Earl has encouraged proclivities in them for which I disapprove. A man should not seek his pleasure outside of marriage. A man who marries her without knowing her may later decide she belongs in an asylum. We cannot let that happen to her."

I felt sad for my aunt. I understood that she had genuine worries, but I could not, would not, sacrifice my happiness on the alter of familial duty.

Lady Catherine sniffed once, twice, and then dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief. I feared she would cry. My aunt was always so confident and certain that I felt my world had tilted. Who was this woman before me? Had I won or was this another attempt to get me to comply?

I had my answer when she began to cry and said, "I hope you were not simply being glib in offering to help Anne. I will hold you to your promise to do all you can to help Anne short of courtship or marriage. Will you formally agree and promise me to be her protector, her guardian? Even if we draw up papers, you will not truly have that authority should me brother wish to interfere."

"Yes, I will," I told her. "Anne is family and I would care for her as if she were my own sister. But truly, I think you are worrying about this too much. You have many years ahead of you and I am convinced that Anne can improve."

Aunt Catherine twisted her lips when I mentioned her having many years and I did not know what that was supposed to mean. She answered, "I suppose that will have to be enough; it is more than anyone else has offered me."

She leaned toward me, her gloved, bony hand gripping over my own. "I am sorry for my dismissal of Miss Bennet. I meant no slight to her, truly I did not. I just hoped that perhaps I could sway you to consider Anne, but it seems it is too late. She is lovely and I can understand how you could admire her. She has a charming impertinence. If it is not to be my Anne, I hope you will find happiness with your choice."

I suddenly felt a dampness in my eyes. Although Lady Catherine had not exactly said so, it felt like I had her blessing. I told her, "I love Miss Elizabeth Bennet and I hope in time she might feel the same."

My aunt squeezed my hand harder, "You have a kind heart, it is like to your mother's heart. Miss Bennet would be blessed to marry you, my boy. I wish you much success in winning her hand. I have a feeling that she could be of great help to you in aiding Anne."

Our conversation after that was much more relaxed. I talked to my aunt for quite sometime about my ideas to help Anne and how Georgiana had already been implementing them. Finally, when she seemed to be feeling better (she had sat up and began talking more like her typical self), I turned the conversation to Edwin.

"Lady Catherine, I have been trying to make out how much Fitzwilliam's actions this morning were to carry out your wishes and how much he was acting on his own accord. Just what did you discuss regarding my interest in Miss Elizabeth?"

"Last night we both agreed that you had shown a marked interest in Miss Bennet by daring to sing about the young maid that does herself in after being seduced and defending her choice of song. It was so unlike you!"

When I made no response after she paused, she continued. "Fitzwilliam told me he learnt from his valet that the staff had deduced you were courting her. Apparently your valet and Georgiana's maid complained about you and Georgiana rising early each morning for a walk and the maid at the parsonage, who is the sister of my stablemaster, told her brother that Miss Bennet had also been setting out early for a morning constitutional and taking her time in returning."

"What did you ask him to do about it?" I asked.

"I asked that he try to discourage you and turn your interest to Anne and explain why she was the better choice."

Remembering what Edwin had done, I tried my best to control my anger. "Did you ask him to suggest an arrangement where I would take Miss Bennet under my protection rather marrying her?"

Her mouth gaped open and she briefly covered her eyes with her hands while shaking her head back and forth in denial. "Of course not; I do not approve of such arrangements. I wanted you to marry Anne, not dishonor your future wedding vows!"

"Edwin suggested he would take her as a mistress himself if he thought she would agree but I had more resources to tempt her." It hurt me even to say the words, to imagine her being so horribly dishonored.

"How could he suggest that of a member of the gentry!" My aunt's eyes were wide. She lept up and began pacing to and fro. "Miss Bennet's family may be relatively humble, but she would never act in such an infamous manner. And to think my own nephew would have such improper thoughts about the maiden you wish to marry, it is not to be borne! I would never endorse or condone such actions."

I told her, "I believe you," and I did. It had seemed unlikely for her to be part of such a nefarious suggestion, but I still had to determine if Edwin posed a danger to Miss Elizabeth, so I asked, "Forgive me for discussing such an improper topic with you and whatever distress it may have cost you, but I must know, do you think he might actually attempt to accost Miss Elizabeth and have his way with her?"

My aunt's eyes widened, and she gasped. "I cannot imagine him acting in such a way, but I could not imagine the words he has said to you. I hope his noble blood would turn him away from such a course of action, but if there is even the barest possibility we must take preventative action, however I need time to think of what to do. . . ."

When she said the word "time" it immediately made me wonder how long we had been talking. I glanced around until I found a clock and was horrified at how much time had passed. Was Miss Elizabeth still in the house?

I stood up, and told her, "Time is what we may not have. Has she already left the house? I have done my best to warn her about him, but it is not enough."

Lady Catherine immediately summoned a servant to find out while I went outside for a few moments to look around to see if I could spot him or her. When I returned inside, Lady Catherine told me, her eyes wide, "Darcy, she left a quarter of an hour ago and it seems Fitzwilliam insisted on escorting her there."

I know it was irrational and probably a vast overreaction, but I tore out of Rosings like a hound after a fox. My feet were already hurting and my throat burning when it occurred to me that I probably should have gone by horse even with the delay that visiting the stable and saddling one would have cost. Yet turning back by then would have been folly.

A few minutes later after I passed a tree thick with foliage, I spotted Edwin and Miss Elizabeth. As of yet they were very small dots but that patch of pale green that was her frock made her unmistakable. As soon as I realized there was a good space between them, I slowed down to a trot and then forced myself to walk. It would do no good to approach them when I was breathing too hard to talk.

Edwin's back was to me, but Elizabeth was half inclined toward me. I thought, perhaps, she could see me approaching. They seemed to be talking and before I was yet close enough to hear their words, I forced myself to stand and wait, to settle myself down further. I did not want to overreact. Finally, when my heart was no longer widely thumping in my chest, I could breathe normally, and I no longer felt I was in danger of hitting Edwin, I proceeded, walking as softly as I could, hoping to find out what they were discussing before Edwin heard me.

When I was finally close enough to understand any words, it was Miss Elizabeth I heard: "If I could _feel_ gratitude, I would now thank you. However, I have every reason in the world to think ill of you. Why did you with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, choose to tell me with one breath that I am inferior to Mr. Darcy and my family is a degradation and in the next attempt to convince me that his condition makes him unsuitable for me? Was this not an excuse for incivility if I _was_ uncivil? Through your high-handed actions, you have withheld the advantages which you know were his birth right, you have deprived Mr. Darcy of that independence which was no less than his due. You are his cousin, yet you treat his condition with contempt and ridicule."

I felt happy. She defended me!

Edwin replied, "I but made an honest confession of the scruples that should prevent you from entering into any understanding with him. Nor am I ashamed of the feelings I related. They were natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections being joined to me through my cousin? To congratulate myself on the hope that you would produce five more children with Darcy's affliction? You are then resolved to have him?"

"I have said no such thing." She glanced toward me and colored slightly before turning back toward him and continuing. "I am only resolved to act in that manner, which will, in my own opinion, constitute my happiness, without reference to _you_ , or to any person so wholly unconnected with me."

Miss Elizabeth had neither yet fulfilled my dearest hope nor rejected me. I had already stopped a few feet behind Edwin and wondered what would happen next. I was surprised that he, a military man, had not heard me, but it is probable it was because he was attending closely to her words.

Just then I heard the unmistakable sound of horses pulling Lady Catherine's barouche toward us along the adjoining drive. I glanced over my shoulder to confirm that it was indeed hers, before turning back towards Miss Elizabeth and Edwin, and therefore saw them when they turned toward the sound, with Edwin startling when he saw me.

A minute or two later, the barouche pulled up beside us and I heard Lady Catherine in her most commanding voice say, "Miss Bennet join me, I am going to call on the Collinses." Parker, Lady Catherine’s coachman, climbed down and opened the door for Miss Elizabeth. Miss Elizabeth quickly glanced at me, saw me nod and then she was off. I waited until the barouche was away before turning back to Edwin.

He straightened, placed on hand upon his waist and pronounced solemnly, "You may not like that I tried to get Miss Bennet to reject you, but I have done only what I feel is right and best serves the interest of our family."

I felt both angry and sad. I wanted to be reasonable, but I also knew that the arrangement between us had to change. I told Edwin, "When I was yet a child and our fathers arranged a plan by which you would help me navigate society, I know you helped me a great deal. You tirelessly worked to assist me, helped to lessen the effects of my errors and helped others abide me. Even after my majority you continued in your efforts as my father wanted. It was proper that I complied with his wishes as my father still commanded my filial respect as his son and heir."

He nodded and I continued. "When my father died, he rewarded you with an estate and no one would have thought it amiss if you had withdrawn then. We ourselves could have come to an arrangement about continuing your service, but we did not. Instead you continued on as if you were appointed in your duties for life and I acquiesced."

Edwin looked as if he were about to speak, but I held up my hand for silence and he closed his mouth. "Edwin, I used to think of you as almost an elder brother, but now it feels more like you are my keeper. It was never your job to fully arrange my life for me. I have come to realize that I will never truly be a man if I let this continue. Therefore, I release you from any further obligation. I will undoubtedly make many mistakes as I will never have your skills, but I will own them as my own."

He gestured with a clenched hand, "My father commands-"

"Your father does not command me!" I was firm; I knew I could not falter if anything was to change.

Edwin tipped his head slightly to one side, a slight tension between his eyebrows and in his jaw. The look in his eyes was different than what I was used to seeing when he looked at me; I was not sure if it was a positive or negative development. "My father will be displeased," he countered.

"That is an affair between you and he. I am sure the Earl can find other uses for your skills. Perhaps you will wish to marry; with your charm you should do well."

"Lady Catherine—"

"Has already acknowledged that my choice of bride is my decision and has accepted it will never be Anne. You no longer have her support in this matter. We are both appalled by what you would suggest for Miss Elizabeth. Return to Rosings; I would see you gone in the morning."

Edwin opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. He turned and walked in the direction of Rosings. I turned the opposite way and headed for the parsonage.

As I walked to the parsonage I began to worry about my appearance. I had become quite hot under the collar from running and worry. Likely my face was red and my hair affright. I felt trickles of wet down my back and under my arms and worried that I had an odor. I was completely unpresentable.

By this time, I was almost there. I stopped and pondered a minute but then decided to turn back rather than have Miss Elizabeth see me this way.

I was too late. She must have spotted me from a window because as I started to walk away she came running out the door, calling, "Mr. Darcy! Are not you going to call on me?"

I paused, uncertain. I was worried about my appearance but was no longer that young man who would have run away in shame.

Miss Elizabeth stopped just a couple of feet away from me. She told me in a tone that might be playful, "I need to be called on twice a day, I think. We have but a few moments. Lady Catherine is out back, advising Mrs. Collins on her chickens." She smiled at me.

I felt the need to say something clever in return, yet I could think of nothing. "I did not think I should call when I look as if I have been working in the fields all day."

"That does not matter," said she. "I suppose I can wait until tomorrow. Lady Catherine has invited us all for dinner and has made it clear that any time we spend together should be properly supervised under her auspices or that of Mrs. Collins."

Some sense returned to me and I felt a need to explain about Edwin. I told her, "My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, will be leaving on the morrow, I hope. I have asked him to go."

She nodded, "I liked Colonel Fitzwilliam well enough, but I fear that must mean I am a poor judge of character to have thought well of both him and Mr. Wickham. He does not approve of your plans for us."

I wanted to ask whether she now approved of what I wished for, but I did not dare. I wanted to say something clever in return, but I could not think of anything. I settled for responding, "He may not, but Lady Catherine is now more amenable to my plans than she once was; she wanted me to marry Anne but I believe she now accepts that can never be. My heart is quite engaged elsewhere."

I wished in that moment I could take up her hand and ask her the question I most desired. However, my lips would not form those words so instead I said, "I fear now that my aunt shall be chaperoning that shall still mean no more early morning walks."

"It is a pity," said she, "but I am glad to have a moment with you. I think, I know . . ." she paused and lightly bit her bottom lip. I was fascinated, my eyes were drawn there, memorizing how her lip looked with her teeth pressing into it, so much so that I almost missed her next words. "It is . . . that is . . ."

She looked down, avoiding my eyes and blushed. I wondered what was amiss and almost asked when she whispered quietly, "Do you still want my token?"

"Oh yes!" I cried out loudly before realizing I ought to keep my voice low as she had done and then did my best to whisper, "there is nothing I have desired more."

"Nothing, Mr. Darcy?" She gave a little smirk and at that moment I knew not what to answer.

In my dreams and secret thoughts there was much more that I desired. I longed to run my bare hands along the sides of her face and gently hold her near as my lips touched hers, to run my fingers down the side of neck and trace the skin that disappeared beneath the edges of her gown, to perhaps feel her hands, gloveless against the top edges of my cravat. However, as I was not Edwin nor George, from me such things would never be spoken of in front of a maiden.

I was silent for several moments collecting my thoughts before I knew how I ought to answer, "Yes, some day if you are amenable, to formally court you, seek and receive your hand and then marry you."

She beamed and her eyes sparkled. "Hold out your hand," she instructed softly, blushing yet again.

I extended my hand, palm facing up, and watched as she dropped her yellow ribbon from her bare fingers into my hand. I closed my hand around it and felt its silky smoothness as I lightly stroked the ribbon against my palm with my fingertips. As I carefully put it in my pocket and nestled it beside my simple string, I had a sudden inspiration.

I decided not to care if such a thing was done or not. I did not need to please society, only she and me, and I thought she would be pleased.

"Fair Miss Elizabeth, while I have nothing as fine as your ribbon, would you accept a humble token from me?"

She nodded, her lips closed in a slight smile, twisting a curl beside her left ear that had escaped from where its fellows were carefully tucked away. Did she have any idea how every little movement she made charmed me so?

"Hold out your hand," I whispered, imitating her words. She did so and for a moment I studied her delicate palm and slender fingers. I had seen her hands before moving over the pianoforte, but it was different seeing the underside of one as she held it still. I noticed it was smaller than Georgiana's were. Then I recollected myself and gently placed my string down into her cupped hand, daring to gently touch her hand for a moment as I released it. As she had with her ribbon before, she tucked my string into her sleeve.

We stood silent for a minute, each watching the other. I began to hear voices and suspected my aunt and Mrs. Collins were coming near. I wished to make good my escape.

I bowed to her and she curtseyed. I said, "Until tomorrow." She nodded, turned about and headed back for the parsonage. I watched her until the door closed and then I went on my way.


	32. Edwin's Response

When I returned to Rosings I was exhausted. The turmoil of the day had taken a mighty toll that others probably would not understand. All I desired was to retreat from everything and everyone, but I also felt grimy, sweaty and knew I desperately needed to get clean. I laboriously made my way up the stairs and ponderously walked to my room, before summoning Jeffrey to attend me. When he came, I requested a bath.

It took some time for my bath to be prepared as the copper tub had to be brought and the water fetched and warmed. While I waited, I sat upon a wooden chair I had pulled as far away as I could to a corner of the room. With the two walls close by, I felt a little safer. I sat facing out, my elbows on my thighs and my face cradled in my hands. I closed my eyes and tried to block out sounds of the servants coming in and out with the water, but at first, I startled every time the door opened or shut.

I tried to make some sense of the day, but I had not the energy to do so. It felt as if everything was off kilter, distorted, twisted. No one had behaved as I expected. I felt uncertain about everything and everyone. Small recollections from the last few hours were layered over each other in a dizzying array. The voices of Miss Elizabeth, Edwin, my aunt and even Mrs. Collins overlapped each other in a cacophony of noise, with certain phrases repeated over and over, but not necessarily said by the correct person.

Finally, as if from a great distance I heard Jeffrey say, "Mr. Darcy, everything is ready, it is all arranged. Do you wish my assistance?"

As I was not wearing boots, I lifted my head, glanced around the room to make sure everything was laid out. As it was, I told him, "Just with my coat." He helped pull it off. I then told him, "I shall not need you for the rest of the day. I shall not attend dinner tonight, please make my apologies and make sure they know I am not ill but tired and have a dinner tray sent to my room."

When he was gone, I gradually freed myself from my clothes. First came the shoes and stockings. Then I stood up, untied my cravat and unbuttoned my shirt. As I freed myself from each item, I laid them in a tidy pile on the chair. When I was finally nude and unencumbered, I walked over to the tub and stepped in and then sank down, submerged myself. The water was pleasantly warm, and I made good use of the soap and flannel, even washing my hair. I felt better once I was clean.

I stayed in the water long after it cooled, and my fingers pruned. The water felt safe and while in the tub my thoughts were a less more organized. First, I concluded that I had been right to tell Edwin that I did not need his services any longer. I was a man, not a child. But as much as I knew it was the right decision to stop Edwin from controlling my life, that it would be folly indeed to let someone who thought of and spoke of maidens as he did to at for me, I could not help but worry. I had never entirely stood alone before. Even while I knew many of his actions had been wrong, I still believed he genuinely cared for me in his own way and now there was a vast abyss before me.

I tried to imagine doing more things by myself or with servants that would be solely mine to command. My imaginings were daunting. I would have to solve all problems by myself. The idea of it was overwhelming.

But then I imagined myself with Miss Elizabeth in place of Edwin. As lovely as it was to picture her sitting across from me at the dining room table, nestled beside me in my library, her small hand on my arm as we walked the grounds at Pemberley, playing the pianoforte with Georgiana, asleep in the adjoining bedroom, I could not imagine what she would say or do in other situations. I still did not know her nearly as well as the members of my own family and Bingley.

Her words were always a surprise. Though it had been gratifying to hear her set down of Edwin, I was somehow disquieted that she had not needed me to protect her. Contained within her small frame she had a strength of will and power over words that would never be matched by me. She would have never let George or Edwin push her around as I had done, and she was a woman and women were supposed to be the weaker vessel. What would I do, now that my heart was fully engaged if she turned the power of her words against me? As happy as I was to possess her ribbon, the fact that I could not have anticipated gaining it today bothered me.

My aunt had altered, Edwin had altered, Miss Elizabeth had altered, even Mrs. Collins had altered from anything I would have expected of them. Did I even know who they were? It was as if they all were strangers.

Finally, when I began to tremble in the now chilled water, I arose and dried myself with a large piece of flannel and dressed in my clothes. It felt good to do for myself, to slide each clean item into place, to tie and button. I am a private person and Jeffrey knows I only want help with the items of dress and undress that I absolutely cannot handle myself. I even tie my own cravat though he adjusts it before I enter the rest of the house.

Once I was dressed, I decided to rest on top of my bed for a few moments. But soon my eyelids grew heavy. I decided it would not be remiss if I napped until my tray was brought, but while I had a vague recollection of Jeffrey coming with a tray that he set down upon a chest of drawers, I did not get up. Instead I fell deeply asleep and did not awake again until late in the morning.

Jeffrey must have anticipated my waking as he suddenly appeared. He told me, "Lady Catherine bid that I let you rest rather than get you up to see him off. Colonel Fitzwilliam left this morning but before he did, his man asked that I give you this letter."

Jeffrey bowed and withdrew. With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, I opened the letter, and to my still increasing wonder perceived as I unbound it that it consisted of two sheets of letter paper written quite through, in a very close hand. Walking back and forth in my chamber, I began it. It was dated from Rosings, at eight o'clock in the morning, and it was as follows:

_Be not alarmed, Fitzwilliam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of it containing any repetition of those sentiments, which were yesterday morning so disgusting to you and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I write without any intention of paining you regarding her, but to humble myself. On the basis of our familial bond, I demand your attention; your feelings, I know, will bestow it unwillingly, but I demand of it your justice._

_Two offenses of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, have I committed against you and Miss Bennet. The first was that I tried to dissuade you and her from entering into a marriage with each other, and the other, that I have, in defiance of your majority, estate, honor and humanity, willfully kept you from the independence that should have been yours. Willfully and wantonly to arrange your life as your keeper, would be a depravity, to which the separation of you and Miss Bennet, whose affection could be the growth of only a few weeks, could bear no comparison. But from the severity of your reaction which yesterday was met with my suggestion that you reach an alternative arrangement with Miss Bennet and bow to the duty I suggested you bear to Anne, I hope you shall forgive me._

_I had not long been in Kent, before I saw, from our visits to the Collinses and their guests that you had an infatuation with Miss Bennet. Yes, I believe you tried to hide it, but the looks you cast her way revealed the matter to me, as it might not to another who has not known you since childhood. Too, I learned that you had been meeting her on morning walks with your sister and Lady Catherine and I discussed that it seemed evident that you preferred Miss Bennet to Anne._

_But it was not until the evening of Easter at Rosings that I had any apprehension of you feeling a serious attachment or of her returning your interest with equal vigor. Lady Catherine's uneasiness had been equally excited with my own; our coincidence of feeling that Miss Bennet was the largest obstacle to you marrying Anne, and alike sensible that no time was to be lost in detaching you from each other, motivated our interference._

_In speaking to you of the duty you owed to your family to provide for Anne, I cannot blame myself for having done so much. I may yet credit myself that my raising such a concern may have played a role in your offer to Lady Catherine that she told me about last night, binding yourself to do all you can for poor Anne short of courtship or marriage._

_However, Lady Catherine had no part in my suggestion that you act less than honorably toward Miss Bennet. Rest assured that while I find Miss Bennet to be attractive, any interest in my part was motivated by a wish for diversion. I had no serious designs in engaging in inappropriate conduct with the daughter of a gentleman. I am not bored of my Sylvia and have no plans to set her aside or take on responsibilities to another; this was a complete falsehood which I used to try to determine how strong was your regard. I doubted not that your honor would prevent you from following my suggestion toward her. Miss Bennet is yet ignorant of my making such statements about her to you. I have ever been proper in my conduct toward her._

_My objections to your marriage have already been addressed to you and to her and if neither of you are thereby dissuaded, I will endeavor to remember them no more should you wed. If I have wounded your or her feelings by raising the possibility that by marrying you Miss Elizabeth may have children like you, it was done so that any understanding you may reach will be with her having full knowledge of her possible future and I have not yet learnt to condemn myself for doing so._

_With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, of having injured you by denying your independence, I cannot refute that my actions in such regard have been reprehensible. I can only explain that my high-handed conduct was done at the behest of your father and my own. It was a long-standing agreement between them that I should be tasked with looking after you and preventing you from bringing shame to the Darcys and the Fitzwilliams._

_You are incorrect that my obligation to your father ended with his death and my inheritance. By his own hand in a letter provided to me upon his death, Mr. Darcy directed that my honor was engaged by the acceptance of his gift that I continue my efforts regarding you until you either had a son or another heir who had reached his majority and was fully capable of running Pemberley for you, or you had adequately proven to me that you could be responsible for directing your own life. Just as I was made a guardian of Georgiana, I was given a very similar responsibility toward you._

_In addition to overseeing you, the Earl also charged me with seeing to Lady Catherine and Anne, and doing my best to ensure that Rosings and Pemberley stayed in the hands of our family. It was he that first suggested to both Lady Catherine and me, that this might best be accomplished by you taking Anne to wife, producing no children in consideration of her weakened state and naming your Fitzwilliam cousins as heirs. While the Earl finds the idea of any of his sons marrying Anne to be a less desirable solution, he has long favored the idea that when Georgiana is of marital age that she might make a match among us._

_Everything I have done was to further the charges laid upon me by both of our fathers. However, yesterday when you exerted yourself and relieved me of my duty, for the first time I truly believed that perhaps you had satisfied your father's alternative condition of proving you could be your own man._

_While this did not fulfill the tasks assigned to me by the Earl, your assurances to Lady Catherine regarding Anne made me believe that at least partial success of his goals was achieved. I had not thought you would provide for her without being bound in marriage._

_Certainly, by suggesting such an alliance I was endeavoring to avoid the possibility that I would have to ask for Anne's hand myself. While the Earl may still not be pleased and may still desire that me or one of my brothers marry her, I will do my best to dissuade him and hopefully persuade him I can best serve my family by marrying a different wealthy heiress, though not your sister. Although I made some such hint to Lady Catherine that I would prefer marrying Georgiana to Anne and this is true, the affection I feel for Georgiana is that of a brother to a sister. Further, a guardian should never marry a ward. Such an act of self-interest is most reprehensible. If I have been less than civil to our aunt about whether I would marry Anne and flippant in suggesting Georgiana instead, it was to deter her from placing me in your place as a suitable marriage partner for Anne and attempting to arrange our marriage._

_Having seen the affection between you and Miss Bennet makes me wish that I, too, could have a love match, but I have long since known my duty to marry well, as my parents have done, rather than for affection. The Earl has long told me that love is not necessary in deciding on a wife, but I may find affection elsewhere. You were correct in pointing out that any displeasure the Earl may have in my accepting your choices is a matter between him and me._

_You may well recall the offer I made to share my Sylvia's affections with you; this also I did at our fathers' request. They had in mind that Wickham and I take you to a nanny house to initiate you into the ways of men. I understand Wickham played a cruel joke on you in that regard. Your father feared that without direct instruction you would not later know how to procure an heir and I thought offering you a more thoughtful woman, a sort of teacher who was previously prepared for your eccentricities was better than what they had planned and my Sylvia agreed. Undoubtedly, I should have just had a frank talk with you instead. When you do marry, I will gladly offer my advice on such matters should you wish it of me._

_This, Fitz, is a faithful narrative of why I have behaved as I have; and if you do not reject it as absolutely false, you will, I hope, acquit me henceforth of cruelty toward yourself. You may possibly wonder why all of this was not told to you yesterday. But I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can refer you to the letter I received from your father and I can also appeal more particularly to the testimony of the Earl, who I doubt not would admit everything. I only can hope that someday you can forgive me and once again think of me as a brother. I will only add, God bless you._

_Edwin Fitzwilliam_

I had no expectations at all to the contents of the letter. Yet as I perused it, it excited very contrary emotions in me, ones that I could scarcely define. Of course, that was hardly unusual with me. I read with an eagerness which hardly left me the power of comprehension, and from the impatience of knowing what the next sentence would bring, I was hardly capable of attending to the sense of the one before my eyes. Edwin seeking to take credit for my plans to help Anne was self-serving. His belief that he somehow was aiding Miss Elizabeth by warning her about what children she might bear made me too angry to have any wish of doing him justice. That Edwin expressed no regret for what he had done regarding that satisfied me that while he might be trying to appear penitent, he was haughty, full of pride and insolence.

When I read the account of my father's and the Earl's commands, I was able to read with somewhat clearer attention. My feelings regarding the revelation of my father's plans to be executed beyond the grave were yet more acutely painful and more difficult of definition. While I was feeling oppressed by Edwin, it was still by my father's command. I doubted not that this was true. Had he not left detailed plans for Pemberley and all else under my control? Had he not trusted Fitzwilliam to guard Georgiana, so why not also me? The idea that there was an exit clause if I proved myself soothed, but it could not console me for the contempt my father must have felt for me and I felt depressed beyond anything I had ever known.

I wondered if I could trust my own perceptions on whether Edwin was being genuine or if he was still dissembling. Perhaps he thought I would not take him up on his offer to view his proof? At one time I almost resolved in applying to the Earl, but the idea was checked by the awkwardness of the application. Normally I would have my sister or Bingley read my correspondence when I needed help interpreting it, but the contents of the letter were such that I did not want another living soul to see it.

The discussion of the plans to initiate me into manhood embarrassed and disgusted me. I wished to discredit them entirely and I repeatedly exclaimed, "This must be false! This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!" When I thought it was only Edwin's idea, that was sufficiently abhorrent, but now that I knew of the instigators behind it, I felt even more the fool. What must my father and the Earl have thought of me!

I knew the Earl was less than upright when it came to his marriage vows. More than once when I was a young man, he apparently assumed that my condition was equivalent to me being deaf and dumb for he had no compunction in letting me see his most reprehensible behavior. I recalled seeing him graze his fingers along a kitchen servant's backside, squeeze a household maid's bottom and pinch the governess's chest. I, of course, said nothing, did not then truly have the words, but I never forgot how the first two made haste to get away and the latter fiercely glared. When visiting when I was older, he was more circumspect, but I noticed the female servants always were quick to complete their tasks in his presence.

Something then occurred to me that should have been obvious. Though the Earl now only had surviving sons, at one point he had two daughters, Marina and Emmeline, who were the youngest children in his household. I probably would have taken little notice of them except that they were close to an age with Georgiana, though they were older.

When we stayed with the Earl at his estate one summer Georgiana's governess was given leave to attend to her dying mother and their governess, a Miss Selina Vaughan, was also charged with seeing to Georgiana, who was then nine years old. I was then home from university but being overseen by Edwin.

I used to take Georgiana out to walk the grounds in the afternoon when she had finished her lessons and when I collected her I would stare at but not talk directly to Governess Vaughan, who was pretty with golden hair and had a merry laugh. I remember we learned by chance that Governess Vaughan would release Georgiana when I arrived, even if she had not yet completed her lessons.

Georgiana detested needlepoint. She was forever pricking herself or having to undue her stitches and did not fancy that art at all. So, Georgiana arranged with me that on the days when needlepoint was to be the last task, I should always arrive the earliest. I remember Governess Vaughan soon figured out why I arrived so early on those days but was kind and did not chastise Georgiana for avoiding that task. It was Governess Vaughan who had glared at the Earl.

The following winter a fever carried off first Emmeline and then Marina, when they were no more than eleven and twelve. I remember receiving the news in letters when I was away at university.

I remember a conversation some months later between my mother and Lady Catherine who was visiting us with Anne during the summer. While I in the parlor with them, I was occupied with a book and apparently nearly invisible. My mother was bemoaning to Lady Catherine that it was very inconvenient that Georgiana's governess had not departed sooner. "If I had known, I would have been interested in employing Miss Vaughan after our dear nieces died. She was so good with Georgiana."

Lady Catherine had loudly whispered in reply, "Did I not tell you that our brother's wife heard that after she left their employ Miss Vaughan fell very far indeed? She was dismissed by the wife of her new employer for a dalliance with the husband and is no longer suitable to educate anyone."

My mother had cried, "You know what that means, Catherine, she was undoubtedly opportuned and had no choice, yet she pays the price for her employer's foul actions!"

Lady Catherine had replied with a shake of her head, "Such is the way of the world. A woman ought to marry if she can rather than enter service if she be of gentle birth. Now she is tainted and will fall further still. She will be fortunate indeed if she avoids serving in a house of ill repute. The matter is too well known; even if we could find her, she could never find respectability in your home. Her only hope lies in finding employment far away and under an assumed name. I would help her if I could."

My mother responded, "Catherine, you have done far more than most ever would. What a strange irony it is that someone we know, who could have benefited from your assistance, became a fallen woman and did not know to seek you out."

When I was younger and had heard the phrase "fallen woman" I had literally imagined a woman falling and perhaps becoming dirty and scraping her knees as I had done when I had fallen. Figurative language did not come easy to me.

While I knew by that time what it meant, when my aunt said "will fall further still" I imagined Governess Vaughan tumbling out a window, down a hill and into a brook, her golden hair darkening from the soaking it received and her merry laugh turning into to howls of pain. I felt sad for her.

But now, I wondered if the Earl had done worse things to her than what I had seen. Surely, he would not have gone so far; if he had she would have sought employment elsewhere before the deaths of my cousins. But when they died, she must have taken the first position she could, as I knew the Earl was not prone to charity.

Edwin had told me his mistress used to be a governess. Could Miss Selina Vaughan be Edwin's Sylvia? It was a name I had never heard before, but it shared some letters with Miss Vaughan's name. Had she sought help from her former employer's son only to be offered another position of degradation? I half wished that Edwin had not departed, and I could ask him about this.

I was quite aggrieved both by the letter and my suppositions, so gave myself the freedom to repeatedly nod my head while humming. It felt soothing, like a baby might feel while being rocked. I needed to calm down somehow and, in this manner, I spent my time until I was quite late for breakfast.


	33. Informing Georgiana

I was pleased to see Georgiana was the only one who remained at the table when I finally descended and she must have felt the same, as she cried out, "Oh, Brother, I have been waiting for your company and I am so glad to see you!" She stood up, wrapped her arms around me for a quick hug, resting her head against my shoulder for a moment. I could not help but wonder how I had come to be blessed with such a dear sister.

However, when we parted I briefly pondered what an embrace from Miss Elizabeth would be like. Her head would only reach my mid-chest. I could almost picture her there but could not really imagine what she would feel like in my arms, except that she would be soft and warm.

"I am delighted to see you as well," I told Georgiana. I pulled her seat out and after she seated herself, pushed her chair in. These simply movements helped me try to hide all the underlying turmoil I still felt by trying to speak cheerfully and hide behind a forced smile. "So many things happened yesterday, and I am eager to tell you about them all." I seated myself next to her, on her right side, and she turned to look at me.

"I think I know part of what you wish to tell me," she said, grasping my arm and smiling up at me, "Lady Catherine told me, 'I have given Darcy my permission to court Miss Bennet' . . ."

Georgiana did her best to imitate our aunt's formal imperious tone and most stern face when quoting her words and I could not help but chuckle. Georgiana somehow always knew how to lighten my mood. And how silly, really for Lady Catherine to believe that she somehow had the right to grant me permission as a full grown and independent man, though it was true that I was staying in her house.

" . . . but I understand this means the end of our morning walks as she has determined that 'any courting Darcy shall do be properly supervised' under her auspices or those of Mrs. Collins; apparently I am not a proper choice as a chaperone." Her second imitation was wonderful as well.

I responded, "While you make a most charming chaperone, I suspect our aunt is right. I shall miss our early morning outings but the opportunity to court with her approval is worth the loss. It sounds like she has told you much, however, Georgiana, you have yet to hear the best of news as our aunt does not know it and I do not plan to tell her. It is far too precious of a thing to share with anyone but you."

"What, Brother, what?" She bounced slightly in her chair and I anticipated that she might squeal when she learned my news. At that moment I felt only joy remembering what I had gained.

Slowly I pulled Miss Elizabeth's yellow ribbon from my pocket and held it up between us. Georgiana's eyes grew wide. "Oh, Brother, how wonderful!" Instead of squealing her eyes grew bright with tears. "I have been praying it would be so. Mayhap soon, if God so wills, you shall gain a bride and I a sister." I nodded, for the moment unable to speak as I felt deeply. I continued to hold her ribbon in my hand, although by now I had lowered my hand to just above my lap so that the ribbon would be more easily concealed should anyone come into the dining room. The silky smoothness of Miss Elizabeth's ribbon was very unlike my more fibrous string.

After a long pause in which we each savored our joy, Georgiana spoke again. "Could you tell me how it happened?"

I nodded, wrapping the ribbon around my fingers and then unwrapping it. I would have never dared to do this if anyone else was about. As I did so, I was very aware of how different the ribbon felt compared to my string, but I was certain I could become used to the substitution. As I wound and unwound, I tried to think about how best to give the sequence of events.

"Edwin tried to dissuade Miss Elizabeth from considering my suit. I came upon them during this conversation, when she was defending me to him. Then, later, I went to see her. We had a moment alone outside and she offered me her token. It was the most wonderful thing to finally be worthy of her ribbon. Perhaps I got a bit carried away, but I offered her my string and she accepted it."

"Oh, how romantic!" Georgiana exclaimed. She clasped her hands together. "I cannot imagine you trusting your string to anyone less worthy."

"I am not worthy of her," I told my sister, swallowing hard as I felt my own eyes grow wet. As I was a man, I would not let myself cry. "But I am a selfish being; even if I do not deserve her, I will marry her if she will have me."

Georgiana leaned toward me and squeezed my arm three times. She gazed up at me and declared, "No one else could ever love her as you do." Then she hugged me again, resting her head upon my left shoulder as she did so.

After she broke our hug, I brought the yellow ribbon to my lips and kissed it, before tucking it deep into my pocket. I looked back at Georgiana to see her grinning.

A bit embarrassed, I got up and collected some toast and jam. When I sat down again, I was more composed.

"Do you know that Edwin left this morning?" Georgiana squeezed my arm lightly as she often did when she thought I needed reassurance.

"Yes," I replied, "he left me a letter." I omitted that I told Edwin to go.

"It was odd," Georgiana told me, straightening her napkin upon her lap, even though she was already done with her breakfast. "I had believed he meant to stay another week and he did not explain his leaving now, only saying 'I must go.' I cannot account for it, but perhaps the explanation was unfit for my innocent ears." Then she laughed.

I said nothing but added in my head: You are more right than you know.

I considered carefully and then I spoke aloud, trying to carefully parse my words to say what I could without untruths. "I think we will see less of Edwin in the years to come. He plans to visit his father and discuss, perhaps, his own desire to seek a bride. His letter was a sort of goodbye. When he mentioned you, he told me you are dear to him as a sister."

Georgiana responded, "I worried he might be growing a bit too fond of Miss Elizabeth and might stand in your way and seek to promote his own interest, so though he is dear to me as well I cannot regret his absence for now." I felt relieved that, apparently, she had no questions about his departure, but I promised myself that I would not leave her in complete ignorance as I had with George Wickham.

She surprised me with her next words. "Edwin was trying too hard to match you with Anne. I suppose you finally stood up to him and I am glad."

"Yes, that was a part of it. His conduct and his words of late have not been those of a proper gentleman." I considered what more I should tell her.

Perhaps she saw signs of the indecision that I was feeling as she wrinkled her brow and said, "I'll let you keep your secrets, Brother." Then with a lighter tone asked, "Now would it be too much if we were to call on the Collinses this morning, then see Miss Elizabeth when she comes again to play the pianoforte this afternoon and then persuade Lady Catherine to invite them all for dinner?"

"Perhaps, just a bit, Georgiana," I answered, "although I would spend all day with her if I could."

"It will happen, Brother. I am certain it will." We smiled at each other.

"I do not know if Lady Catherine told you about it, but part of her willingness to not interfere with my marital plans is that I shall do all I can to help Anne. Naturally, I can only commit myself, but I hope you will continue to want to help her as well." I told her.

"Have I not been doing so? Naturally, I plan to continue." Georgiana responded.

"I never doubted that you would, but it will not always be easy. The display she made at the table will not be the last time she lashes out, I am sure."

Georgiana looked down, "I cannot pretend to like her doing so, I found it a bit frightening, but I can be brave."

"Of course, you can," I responded, and Georgiana looked up again. As if my words made her stronger, she straightened herself up.

"I suppose I ought to get a fresh start at it then," she told me, placing her napkin upon the tablecloth and making as if to get up. I stood up and helped slide her chair back. After she arose, Georgiana added, "Likely I should have already met her, but I so did want to talk to you."

"I thank you for doing so," I told me sister, leaning in to give her a light kiss upon her forehead. "Getting to share what happened with you makes it all seem more real somehow. Tell me, have you made further plans to practice the pianoforte with Miss Elizabeth?"

"Yes, we have. We have resolved that she shall come here every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, weather permitting so long as it does not interfere with any of Mrs. Collins's plans."

As it was a Tuesday, that meant that I would not see her that day. My sister must have seen some of my disappointment in my expression for she laid a hand upon my arm and said, "Have you not heard that absence maketh the heart grow fonder? Surely you can go a day without seeing her."

I considered the matter, "I hope that means that my absence shall have that effect on her."

"Surely it will, Brother. Surely it will." She smiled at me, leaned over and rubbed my arm reassuringly.

"Do you suppose, do I ask to much, to suggest that you might choose to practice in the parlor so I might be present?" I asked Georgiana. "I should like to hear you practice together."

"I am afraid not. You know how much I dislike having Lady Catherine observe me. Additionally, we decided yesterday to use the time to plan a musical surprise for Lady Catherine. We have agreed it would be amusing for you to be surprised, too. But do not worry, Brother, I have arranged matters to make sure you have some time to spend with Miss Elizabeth tomorrow. I secured Lady Catherine's permission to invite Miss Elizabeth to partake of tea after we practice. You shall be invited of course. While it will be supervised at least you shall see her."

I had to be content with that. The rest of the day passed uneventfully, with more harmony than discord.

On Wednesday, I made sure to be present when Miss Elizabeth arrived as I wished to spend as much time in her presence as possible. Lady Catherine was pleasant even if she watched me most intently during those few minutes I was able to spend in Miss Elizabeth's company before she and Georgiana went off to practice the pianoforte. Miss Elizabeth barely met my eyes and I felt she was, perhaps, bashful about the change to our relationship. I hoped she was not regretting our exchange of tokens. It difficult to remain so far away from her when all I wanted to do was to cross the room, kiss her lips and pull her into an embrace.

While I anticipated teatime, it failed live up to my expectations and I expect Miss Elizabeth was disappointed as well. Although I dearly wanted to appear normal and worthy of Miss Elizabeth, to play the confident suitor, I failed miserably.

Question after question was asked of Elizabeth by Lady Catherine. I am not sure if Lady Catherine dominated the conversation just because it was what she usually did, or if it was an attempt to help me. While this was not all bad as, occasionally, I learned more about Miss Elizabeth, it seemed impossible to court her while I was uncomfortably aware of Lady Catherine's presence. Even when she was silent, I was not confident enough to jump into the breach. Even when Georgiana tried to facilitate things, I could hardly put two words together. I knew I was far too quiet and withdrawn, but it took all my efforts to not rock and sway to soothe myself. Oh, if only we could have our walks again!

Afterward when we were alone Georgiana told me, "This will never do, Brother. You must speak to her even if it must be before others. Tomorrow you must certainly call at the parsonage; perhaps away from our aunt it might be easier."

The next morning, I called at the parsonage with Georgiana. However, luck was not with me. As soon as we arrived, before I had even so much as exchanged greetings with Miss Elizabeth, perhaps by some arrangement with my aunt or perhaps just because of his own sentiment as to what was due me, Mr. Collins burst out of his study and spent almost the entire fifteen minutes of our call to rattling on about the condescension I was paying them by the visit.

I had even less of a chance to say anything to Miss Elizabeth there (as compared to when we were in Lady Catherine's presence), until finally when the call was almost over Mr. Collins asked, "Mr. and Miss Darcy, would you do me the very great honor of accompanying me out to my garden? I should think that Mr. Darcy as a diligent landlord of a great estate might have advice for me as to how best to grow parsnips."

We dutifully followed Mr. Collins out, to the garden. I held back, gesturing for the ladies to proceed me and Mrs. Collins, her sister and Georgiana went out in front of us, with Miss Elizabeth the last of them. In a brief moment, she paused, turned and looked at me with her dark eyes. I felt she was trying to communicate something with her glance, but I knew not what it was.

She lightly groaned, smiled and then extended one of her hands back toward me. I extended my own hand forward and I grabbed her hand. She pulled me forward, hurrying me, laughing softly as we ran a bit to catch up. I managed to hold Miss Elizabeth's hand for a few moments until we reached the others, but then she released my hand.

It was none too soon as Mr. Collins was asking, "Mr. Darcy, what do you think I can do to improve my parsnips?"

I came forward and glanced down toward his garden patch. Perhaps my father would have known what to tell him, but I knew nothing of parsnips save that they looked like large whitish carrots and often appeared in soup. So, I asked him, "Tell me of your methods."

When he began speaking in great detail, Mrs. Collins sent her sister and mine inside saying, "Maria, why do you not show Miss Darcy your latest sketch." Maria quickly agreed and I nodded at Georgiana to communicate my permission (although certainly it was not needed in this instance). Doubtless neither of them had much eagerness to listen to Mr. Collins.

Once they went inside, Mrs. Collins glanced back at us and then walked forward and to the left, placing herself in front of us and closer to her husband, roughly between the two of us (I was half behind and to the left of Mrs. Collins and Miss Elizabeth was to the right). As I was much taller than Mrs. Collins, I could easily look over her shoulder and down to see the leaves of the parsnips seedlings, but I doubted that Miss Elizabeth could see much as Mrs. Collins was larger than her.

Mr. Collins was talking very rapidly now, his attention mostly focused forward on his plants, gesturing wildly and with apparent enthusiasm, although he would occasionally turn and look over his left shoulder past his wife and at me. He was saying, "I have worked very hard at improving my soil, Mr. Darcy, and I dare say it has been working fairly well although of course my efforts can yield but a poor crop compared to my betters." In the middle of this statement, a large drop of spittle from his lips landed upon his shoulder, but he seemed not to notice.

I cannot say that I was paying him any mind (even though I had intended to do so) for I was very aware of Miss Elizabeth's presence beside me. Miss Elizabeth looked over at me, gave a little smirk and tilted her head toward the left. It seemed to me that she was trying to indicate something, so I looked down and toward her, noticing that she had extended her left hand once again. It took me a moment to realize that based on how Mrs. Collins was positioned, and the fact that she had not once looked back at us, that I could grab Miss Elizabeth's hand once again. I took up her hand.

While I dearly wished to only look at her, I knew I should try to keep my focus on Mr. Collins who was now squatting down, tracing a gloved finger by a parsnip top with slightly smaller leaves and saying, "I plan to thin my crop next week so that my parsnips will grow to an adequate size." But perhaps because I was not looking at her, I was even more aware of her presence in other ways, all of my focus was to my right even as my eyes looked forward.

Too, it was as if all sensation of touch was focused upon my right gloved hand which was feeling the warmth and pressure of holding Miss Elizabeth's gloved hand even to feeling how a seam of her glove pressed into mine. The warmth of the sun contrasted with the slight coolness of the shadow Miss Elizabeth cast upon me as a distinct sensation.

While I could smell Mr. Collins's sour sweat, the dirt (which had a manure smell) and the odor of the air outside which included the plants and early flowers, and even something that must have been Mrs. Collins, still I could catch a whiff now and again of Miss Elizabeth's soap and sachet on the soft breeze.

I could also separate out the minute sound of her breathing (I had learned it well from our walks, when it was slightly louder) from Mr. Collins impassioned monologue on his parsnips which was periodically interrupted for a quick loud gasp, followed by Mrs. Collins's inserting of a small complimentary sentence such as, "Mr. Collins is very dedicated to his garden" and "I quite encourage him to engage in such a healthful pursuit" while he took a few quick breaths before resuming. Although ostensibly Mrs. Collins was speaking to us, she never turned in our direction, kept her focus on her husband who seemed to straighten proudly with her acknowledgment.

As Mr. Collins is rather long winded, we managed to hold hands for several minutes. It was bliss seasoned by the slightly naughty fear that we might be caught and have to explain. As I was not sure that the exchange of tokens quite meant we were courting, I had no desire for her cousin to question me about my intentions. While it was possible my aunt might have said something to him, I imagined that if she had, he would have already discussed the matter with me and perhaps berated me for breaking my imagined engagement to Miss de Bourgh.

Miss Elizabeth pulled her hand away quite suddenly when Mr. Collins turned fully round to look at me, perhaps no longer trusting that Mrs. Collins was providing an ample screen. The loss of such contact, the absence of that pressure against my hand, was almost painful.

"Now, then, I know I am most unworthy of such condescension, but what advice can you offer me?" Mr. Collins asked.

I said the only thing I could think to say, "It seems you have it well in hand."

Later when I told the tale to Georgiana as we were walking back to Rosings, she skipped a bit ahead of me and then chortled in merriment before slowing and telling me, "Miss Elizabeth, and Mrs. Collins too, are sly and clever. It seems to me they arranged it all together. What a pretty picture has formed in my head of you two holding hands while Mr. Collins was none the wiser. If I am not mistaken, Miss Elizabeth was courting you!"

When we returned to Rosings, I found a letter from Bingley waiting for me. As I had anxiously awaited his response to my letter encouraging him to give Miss Bennet another opportunity, I was most curious about what he would write.


	34. Interlude 4: Bingley's POV: Finding My Purpose

I am not made for idleness and dissipation, no matter what anyone else might think. Certainly, I like good company and gatherings of all sorts as well as the next man or perhaps even more, yes decidedly even more. I find happiness in being with people; I hate to be alone for long.

University provided for all sorts of gatherings: the classes themselves, the studying, the outings with friends, the visits round to see other fellows and sometimes their families. I enjoyed all things of this sort.

In this Darcy and I are polar opposites. He enjoys his solitude, a good book, quiet. I seek to fill places with people, conversation, liveliness. And yet I dare say we exert helpful influences on the other. He is like to a turtle, a snail or a mussel, ready to retreat inward at the first sign of difficulty. I try to pry him, just a little, from his shell, to show him that interacting with others is not nearly as perilous as he seems to believe.

And as for me, Darcy seeks to raise my level of thinking, to challenge me to be more. In this he is perhaps wasting his time. I am not brilliant and never will be. While I was never in much danger of being plucked at university, neither was I ever likely to be distinguished and take any honors. I was content to be just an average student, to serve my time as part of a necessary passage into the world of gentlemen. It was what my father wanted, after all.

My father did not attend university. He was a tradesman and very successful, too. Like me, he always liked to socialize and had a genuine interest in people. I believe this was responsible for much of his success as he never forgot a name or face, and always greeted everyone as if they were of great importance to him. I am convinced that he was not false in acting in such a way as truly to him whoever was before him at the moment was of most importance. I think I am like him in this way.

Father became very rich, but when he became rich, he began to be discontented. Although he loved the business, and all the people that both worked for him and his clients, he knew that his very success (other than of course the material gain), was a very real barrier to us having the place in life he wanted for us.

There was only one thing for Father to do which would place our family on the right path and make life better for us, his children. He sold his interest in the carriage making business to his brother and set about erasing any sign that it was ever his life. He rented a fine property in the country, but we were seldom there with him and Mother. Louisa and then Caroline were sent to a very exclusive finishing school; I was sent to Eton and then the university.

I think Father selling his business was the death of him. It was not from the loneliness engendered by our absence as he still had Mother of course and they were fond of each other, and there were certainly many events they could attend. No, it was the lack of purpose. For what had he to do? What reason did he have to get up each morning?

Mr. Hurst was born into this life and like a fish in a pond, simply stays motionless in one spot. I think he, too, could benefit from purpose but his lack of purpose does not seem to bother him at all. He seeks nothing different than what he knows, and his marriage to my sister does not seem to have caused much alteration in his life. He seems mostly indifferent to Louisa and she does not seem to expect anything different.

Sometimes I wonder why Louisa was so willing to accept such a marriage. Certainly, it cemented her elevation to the gentry, but of what value is that anyway? Almost any tradesman I know would have been an improvement over Mr. Hurst. Far better if Louisa had a simpler life where she had more to do than play with her bracelets and be a mere ornament for her husband's arm.

Mr. Hurst's only purpose seems to be indulgence and he excels at that. He enjoys fine spirits and fine exotic meals made with expensive spices imported from the East Indies. When there is no drinking or eating to be had, he naps until he can commence indulging again. He is only two years my senior and is already growing fat. What kind of a life is that?

Had Father sought my advice, I would have told him that I had no need to be more than he was, that the world will someday belong to those in trade rather than nobility and the landed, and I would have gladly followed in his footsteps. However, he did not ask. If he had, I am sure my voice would have been overwhelmed by that of my sisters who most certainly did want to move up in the world.

However, I should not complain too much about Mr. Hurst. There is no malice in him, and he lets me and Caroline both live with them in London (I have the means but not the will to live alone). Louisa never lacks for anything and I have never seen him lay a hand on her. He is mostly a good sort of man, underneath it all. But I do not want to be him.

Although I met many people in Meryton and liked many of them, I do not wish to emulate any of the gentlemen there. Mr. Bennet only enjoys his books and teasing others and I am neither made for a scholarly life nor for making sport of others.

While Sir William Lucas was elevated from his roots in trade, and we are perhaps similarly friendly by nature, I have no wish to be like him, living with no more purpose than merely to be friendly and good company for others. He used to be a tradesman, even after he became the mayor, or so I am told. But what has being knighted earned him? It did not take my sisters long to sniff out that Miss Lucas does not have much of a dowry. Undoubtedly had Sir William continued in his trade he might have far more to give his daughters and his sons.

I am not worried about the money father gifted me running out. It is well invested and profits me handsomely. There is nothing I need to do see it continue to grow.

While in my youth I was perfectly content to just enjoy myself outside of school, as time has gone by, I think I have developed a bit of wisdom, but that wisdom has only led to my discontent. I do not want my life to be a series of parties, outings, events. I do not want to flit merely from a hunting party, to attending a club, to a ball, to playing cards. I want purpose and meaning. So, what will my purpose be? I want something that I can take pride in, not the silly affectation of taking pride in doing something rapidly (be it writing too fast for my thoughts, leaving the countryside for the town or vice-versa), or the pride of keeping all things pleasant and easy and heading off arguments at every turn.

I know father wanted me to purchase an estate, to become landed, to lead our family where he could not. With such a plan in mind I rented Netherfield. But there is not enough purpose in this. Most gentlemen seem to do but very little. Work is beneath them, so they have stewards, attendants; I dare say that some are so lazy that they may not even clean their own arses.

If I had been raised to it, maybe I could run an estate myself, but I cannot make myself care about crops or livestock as Darcy does. While Adam when expelled from the Garden was to till the field, but surely we cannot all be laborers and a landowner is as removed from a laborer as he can be. Too, from what I understand most landowners have a steward manage most everything. I cannot find meaning in watching someone else do what I should and cannot take enough of an interest in farming to learn how to manage it myself. Why should I? Farming does not change overly much from what I can tell. Things will go on more or less how they have for hundreds of years without me.

I do not think I can find my meaning in life simply in marriage, although I must admit I considered something like this when I first spied Miss Bennet. She is so lovely and for a time, I could imagine her gracing my arm for a lifetime; we would have made a most handsome couple and have lovely fair children with blue eyes. She is exactly who father would have liked to see me marry, a gentlewoman, but not one whose own means would have her looking down on me.

When I resided at Netherfield the first time, Miss Bennet seemed to have no avarice, no guile. I imagined she would most willingly lead where I would follow (as Mother did for Father) and never cause me the least bit of grief. I enjoyed being in her company and she even did well with my sisters. But it is women who are supposed to find their meaning in life from marriage (that and bearing children), not men.

I cared most deeply for Miss Bennet's wellbeing. Though I had nothing to do with it, I felt responsible for her when I found she had become ill at Netherfield, and it was a most pleasant feeling to be responsible for someone else not of my blood. I liked her better than any other I have known. I thought that my feelings must be love. But she was altered when I returned to Netherfield, and all my fancies seemed just that.

In the end I decided that I never knew her and my search for a meaningful life would require me to look elsewhere. I found my mind returning again and again to considering how it was when my father was still working with his brother building carriages and how I still wished to follow in his footsteps rather than remain on the path he tried to set me on.


	35. Leap of Faith

Bingley's letter was most extraordinary; even before I read it, just glancing at the cursive, I realized it was nothing like the letters I was used to trying to decipher with Georgiana's help. Remarkably absent were his typical blottings and scratch outs. The sentences were too long to contain only half-finished thoughts. I could only conclude that rather complete it with quickness and perhaps convey no meaning at all, Bingley chose to recopy it and amend it in the process into perfect slanting cursive that danced across the page. Although I had long encouraged him to similarly amend his papers at university, never had I seen such results.

Bingley began by sending greetings to my sister, Edwin and Miss Elizabeth, and made proper enquiries as to our health before reporting as follows:

_I read your letter again and again and carefully pondered what you said. I considered calling on the Gardiners in the hope that I might be able to speak with Miss Bennet but, in the end, resolved against it. It would be cruel to raise her hopes and I might falter in pursuing what I desire most. I cannot now doubt myself._

_I have always been too quick to consider myself in love. Many a pretty face has turned my head, however now I see that I need more. I have no lasting anger against Miss Bennet for her words and none against Miss Elizabeth as she apparently now thinks the better of her advice to her sister._

_The worst Miss Bennet has shown herself to be is too easily swayed by the advice of someone she cares for and I confess at times, I have done the same. I cannot but recall our conversation at Netherfield with Miss Elizabeth about how I would yield easily to the persuasion of a friend without conviction out of regard for the requester. If you had acted in this way you would now be married to Miss de Bourgh._

_I cannot like how Miss Bennet repeatedly tried to seek out my sisters, but I blame her actions on an excitability regarding her feelings rather than an unfeminine pursuit of a potential spouse. However, I am convinced that neither I nor her know each other well enough for there to be lasting damage on either side. If I am wrong on this regarding Miss Bennet, I cannot feel obligated from an acquaintance from a few months past to tie myself to her, especially considering my plans for my future._

_Please know that I have always been impressed how you have risen to the task of managing Pemberley. It was a great responsibility to come to you at such a young age and although you are naturally aided in this by your steward, you take much upon yourself, much more than many men in your position would. However, such a life is not for me even though it would fulfill my father's desire._

_It was all very well for my father to seek my wellbeing and enact plans to see to its fruition. I do not regret my university education, but I am not meant to be a man of letters or join the gentry. I do not wish to continue drifting, just content to enjoy life with no definite plan beyond that._

_All I ever wished was to take a role in my grandfather's and father's carriage business. My father took many of the profits to fund my independence and dower my sisters. My uncle who took it over is struggling to keep it a growing concern. I believe I can do better when I buy back into the business and become his partner. In doing so I must focus on this endeavor rather than seeking a wife. There is much I need to learn but I aim to try. My sister Caroline is despondent about my choice, but it is my life, not hers._

_I do not doubt that many people will not understand my choice, to willingly give up what my father strived to give me. But I must do what I deem best. As you are a true friend, I hope our friendship can endure my change in status._

_Naturally, continuing the lease of Netherfield does not comport with my present plans. I am resolved to negotiate to give it up. However, I will delay if you wish to temporarily occupy it while courting Miss Elizabeth._

Bingley concluded with further salutations and granted his permission for me to share this missive with Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth if I so desired.

It was by far the most comprehensible missive I had ever received from Bingley and I felt it showed a maturity far beyond what I had come to expect from him. However, I felt a bit of sadness for how Miss Elizabeth was likely to react to the news. I wished, yet again, that things might be different for her sister, but I also respected Bingley's reasoning.

I was eager to discuss Bingley's letter with Miss Elizabeth when she next visited Rosings but was uncertain how best to go about it as I would not raise the matter in front of Lady Catherine. I found Georgiana, proposed a walk in the rose gardens (the rose bushes were not yet blooming but had leafed out considerably), showed the letter to Georgiana and raised my concerns.

Georgiana told me, "You are quite right that such a letter cannot be read aloud or discussed before Lady Catherine. The matter regarding Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet is a delicate one and our aunt would give make embarrassing inquiries and then announce her own opinions so decidedly that there would be no opportunity for you to discuss it with Miss Elizabeth at all. Brother I will see to it. I will arrange it all."

The next morning after breakfast Georgiana reassured me, "We are most fortunate. I have learned that Lady Catherine does not plan to supervise our tea today at all as she is meeting with her steward as she does on every Friday. She has delegated the task to my companion. I have spoken to Mrs. Annesley and she was most understanding when I explained that you wished to speak with Miss Elizabeth without anyone else overhearing. After practicing, we shall take tea, and then afterwards we shall all walk in the rose gardens. While Mrs. Annesley must, naturally, keep you both in sight, she will walk with me well back from both of you."

"How clever of you both," I told her. "You are the best of sisters."

She smiled and said, "Although of course I wish to help you, Brother, my actions are not entirely selfless. I wish to gain Miss Elizabeth Bennet as a sister and then perhaps in a year or two your bride might make me an aunt." She winked at me, giggled and then ran down the hall away from me in most unladylike display. I could not help but smile at her playfulness, but I did not run after her.

Then it was a matter of keeping myself busy until Miss Elizabeth arrived to practice the pianoforte with my sister (I said few words but admired her in her pink dress which brought a brightness to her cheeks and complimented her dark hair and eyes) and then waiting for them to finish so I could join them for tea. Much of this time was occupied by me pacing and practicing how I would address the matter with her, for I was nervous.

During tea, although both my sister and Mrs. Annesley attempted to facilitate the conversation, I sat quietly, properly. I did not want to do anything that would make Miss Elizabeth reject me, so I said very little at all.

Although I recalled my sister telling me that I needed to show Miss Elizabeth who I was, rather than be stiff and awkward, a countervailing thought was booming in my head. It was the voice of my father berating me, "Fitzwilliam Darcy, do not be a fool! Keep your face blank and your mouth shut."

Afterwards, when Georgiana suggested we all walk out to the rose garden, Miss Elizabeth quickly agreed. I offered my arm (which to my relief she accepted), and I felt some measure of calm wash over me from feeling her small, properly gloved hand in the crook of my arm.

We quickly outpaced the others before she slowed down, paused and half-turned in my direction, hand still on my arm, before addressing me. "Mr. Darcy, I am thoroughly flummoxed. Whatever has been the matter these last few days? Where is the man who I met on my walks? You have been so proper and distant I have wondered if you have thought to regret the regard you earlier showed me, but then you were most willing to hold my hand yesterday; I cannot make sense of it all."

"Oh, never would I regret what has passed between us!" The words burst forth from me, louder than I intended. I glanced back and reassured myself that Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley had also paused, well back from where we were but where they could easily see us.

I turned back to Miss Elizabeth and spoke most candidly, without any rehearsal. "I have tried so hard to be what I ought but cannot, and it has driven me to all distraction. I so want to earn your regard but what woman of sense would want someone like me? The things I can offer, perhaps, but the man that comes with Pemberley?"

"Mr. Darcy . . ." she was silent for a moment before giving my arm a light and reassuring squeeze. I was immediately reminded of how often Georgiana did the same and wondered, had she taught Miss Elizabeth to do likewise or had she just observed and seen such a gesture's effect on me? I felt my breathing slow a little and then I took a deep breath and began to calm.

"Such a worry is unfounded. I will never choose a husband simply for material advantage. Like all women, I do need a place to rest my head and a comfortable home but not much else. What I need beside this, is a husband I can respect, esteem and love. I have come to respect and esteem you. As for the last thing, I shall never be able to determine that if you hide yourself behind a mask."

"What must I do?" My mind was focused, waiting for instruction.

Miss Elizabeth squeezed my arm again and looked into my eyes, "Nothing too onerous. Just share who you are with me. I need to know your hopes and fears, the easy and the hard." I nodded. I could do that; I would do that.

She added, her tone different somehow, "I need to know the man I would bind my life to."

My heart soared with the idea that she was truly considering me, but I also felt some distress in knowing that I had come so close to ruining it all. "I will endeavor to do so," I told her. Never before had I been so earnest, so eager to do what another person asked of me, but I did not know what else to say to start doing as she wished.

"Can you not talk to me as you would to Miss Darcy or Mr. Bingley?"

I considered a moment, "I am not equal parts hope, fear and longing for a dreamed of future with them, so it cannot be the same."

"I am sure that is true," here she paused and squeezed my arm again, "but surely you can be yourself with all those things present, can you not?"

"I shall do my best, Miss Elizabeth." As I did not know how I should be sharing of myself then, I endeavored to use the time to speak to her about the matter which had necessitated privacy in the first place. "Should you like to hear of the letter I had from Bingley?"

I read the letter to her, pausing to assert my own thoughts on the matters he raised. As I had expected, she expressed regret that things could not be mended between her sister and Bingley, telling me, "I have not served my sister well, but Jane is a most kind and gracious sister."

Miss Elizabeth then shared, "Two days ago I received a letter from Jane. She was responding to a letter I sent her in which I apologized for my conduct and poor advice to her. It seems madness that while you have forgiven how I acted and what I thought that she is still paying the price. While I have not her leave to share its words—she is a very private person whose feelings, though fervent are not for public display—she has forgiven me and has said she is now determined to forget about Mr. Bingley. If I may share Mr. Bingley's conclusion that neither of them knew the other well enough and of his decision to concentrate on his family's carriage business, rather than seek a bride," she paused for my approval which I gave with a nod, "I believe it may aid her in this attempt."

Naturally, I told her, "I think it would be well if you told Miss Bennet whatever you think would best help her move forward in her life."

We talked of inconsequential matters for a few minutes while I tried to decide whether to raise another important matter to her, all that had occurred between myself and Edwin. After a while I fell silent as I warred with myself. I wanted to tell her, felt I should tell her (more so as I had just agreed to share things with her), but at the same time our conversation had gone so well that I was loath to bring up anything else. I stared at my hands for a while instead of meeting her eyes.

Miss Elizabeth must have suspected there was more I wished to tell her, because she broke the silence. "Please, Mr. Darcy, what is it? I shall keep all your confidences; of that you need have no fear."

"Do you know why my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, left Rosings?" I asked, trying to gauge exactly what to tell her. It was easier to speak to her without seeing emotions flow upon her face, to just hear her lovely disembodied voice. I kept looking at my gloved hands and noticed a seam was coming loose.

"I have a sense, though I may be wrong. Did you know he called at the parsonage before he left?"

"No, I did not." I paused, looked up at her and waited for her to say more.

Miss Elizabeth seemed to be considering as she slid a finger along the ribbon that was knotted under her chin to keep her bonnet upon her head. It was a grosgrain ribbon in a light shade of pink and I watched as her finger switched from skimming along it, to slipping under it to ease it slightly away from her throat. I both wished that it could be my finger sliding under her ribbon and that the pink ribbon could join her yellow one which even now was resting deep in my pocket.

"The Colonel was everything proper in informing us that business with his father the Earl necessitating him leaving and that he was sorry to be going. When he said the word 'sorry' he stared straight at me. I have concluded that he was seeking to apologize for his earlier behavior but could not properly do so in front of the Collinses. However, I am not sure that I believe his excuse as he had never mentioned planning on departing before you."

She had left me an opening, facilitated my speaking, and I determined to take it. "His father did not summon him back. I told him to go, though our exchange likely did prompt him to visit his father. I know we have spoken before about how the Colonel, that is Edwin, and Lady Catherine as well desired that I wed my cousin Anne. They presented it as my duty and a foregone conclusion, though I had no desire to do so. My aunt I know did so wishing to safeguard her daughter for the time when she departs this world, while Edwin sought to serve his family in a different manner."

I considered what else to tell Miss Elizabeth when the saying, "In for a penny, in for a pound," suddenly ran through my head. It was one of those expressions that my tutor Mr. Stowbaugh worked very diligently to teach me, explaining the origin had to do with being in debt. I remembered arguing that logically it was far worse to be in debt a pound instead of only a penny, but that also meant that I remembered this expression.

It seemed apt for such a time as this and I decided to heed it. I felt I could not tell Miss Elizabeth too much as it would be far better for her to know all the effects of what marrying me might mean for her life. Still, it was difficult to bring up the matter and I swallowed hard as I forced myself to do so. If I would be rejected now, so be it.

"I know not if he is right, but Edwin believes that Anne and I share the same malady and that it came through our maternal line as our mothers were sisters. He believes this taint shall extend to any children I should sire, or she should bear."

"If this is the case, why did he wish for your union?" She wrinkled her forehead. I noticed that a strand of her curly dark hair had come loose from near her ear (perhaps she had freed it as she was working her finger along her bonnet ribbon) and was curved around her neck, and the corkscrew hung over the neckline of her gown. My fingers itched to touch that errant strand, but I resisted the inappropriate urge and forced myself to consider her question and the answer I should make.

I felt myself flush as I prepared to speak far more candidly than I had ever spoken to a woman. I stared at her bonnet so I would not have to see her face when I told her, "Edwin urged I practice restraint and keep us both from having children, then pass our estates to my sister."

I let my eyes drift lower, to see hers, "With Anne's weak heart it may be best for her if she has no children."

"Have you a weak heart as well? I have seen no sign of it." Miss Elizabeth's eyes were on me as if she could gauge my health by merely looking at me.

"No, Anne was born strong, it is only a childhood illness with lasting effect that troubles her heart. She tires easily and sometime strains to breathe, but nothing in our innate state makes us weak. My cousin was speaking of our oddities as the thing that should end with us."

Miss Elizabeth's brow wrinkled. "Although I have been in company with Miss de Bourgh on more than one occasion, usually she is very quiet and withdrawn. Lately I have seen her more when Miss Darcy and I practice, but still her companion is always close at hand. I confess I concluded that Miss de Bourgh is how she is because she is sickly, shy and not used to company. Still, I think she is warming toward me."

I had not thought I would have to explain how Anne was to Miss Elizabeth, but there was nothing but to do it. I told her, "Anne, is rather like me only more so. I had more assistance in learning how to be in the world, help in learning how to understand the things that come so naturally to other people. My nurse, my tutor, my mother and so many others have helped me. Lady Catherine and Mrs. Jenkinson have done what they could, but I think more can be done."

I decided to tell her further, as it would impact any woman I married also, "I have promised my aunt to care for Anne if she outlives her mother."

She nodded, "It is only right that family should care for one another and Miss de Bourgh has no brother to do it, although I wonder a little at her wanting your assistance rather than the Earl's."

"It is precisely because Lady Catherine believes I can understand Anne better than anyone else in the family that she wanted me for this task once I told her I would never marry Anne."

I saw Miss Elizabeth ponder the matter, but then she nodded (which cause that errant strand of curl to bob).

I continued on, "I know not whether our shared oddities are a legacy from my grandmother or not. I saw no sign that anyone else in our families was like us, yet I never knew our Fitzwilliam grandparents or their siblings. Georgiana has the same parents as I, yet she is untouched. I know not even what this thing is that I seem to share with Anne, though she is far different than me. I have never known anyone that is like us."

Miss Elizabeth took a moment to consider this before responding, "So that is why the Colonel tried to discourage a union between us! I thought he was spouting nonsense when he spoke of a blood contamination."

Her eyes widened and I wondered then if she would reject me outright. I waited for her to step away from me and leave, but instead she stayed right where she was. I felt tears well up in my eyes and my throat felt thick, but I swallowed them down and forced myself to continue. If Miss Elizabeth wanted to know my thoughts and feelings, then she would have them.

"I have told you what I was like when a child, but I know not what it was like for my father and mother to have a child like me. I know they loved me but of the two only my mother accepted me as I was. It must have been very difficult for her to see how I was not like other children and to not know how I would turn out. At times there were things she could do to help me. At other times I had tantrums that nothing could quell until I was utterly exhausted."

Her eyes were on me, which I noticed each time I deigned to meet them (often instead I let my eyes float away, to stare at her bonnet or dress, or to glance back at my sister and her companion).

"My father was often ashamed of my behavior. When I was a lad especially, I had very little self-control. He tried to cure me, let my governess have a free hand, but they both failed. However, being the eldest, the heir and only son, he could not put me aside."

"Aside?" Miss Elizabeth asked. I quickly glanced up at her, saw that her eyes were wide, and her lower lip hung slightly open.

I lowered my eyes, studied a rosebush, noticed that it had begun to develop some buds, although naturally they were not yet open. "Yes," I forced a harsh chuckle out.

Miss Elizabeth slid her hand slightly down the crook of my arm and I expected her to release it, but instead felt her slide her hand up and down along my coat clad lower arm in a soothing gesture. Her reassurance made me willing to explain the matter.

"Have you not known of children who were born with deformities? Or someone who developed insanity? Asylums are supposed to provide treatment for the unfortunate, but instead most simply house them until they die."

I did not give her a chance to answer before I continued. "I remember once Father was very angry when I smiled at a funeral. He had not wanted to take me at all, but my mother did not want me to be left out, for me to not be one of the men. It was my uncle's funeral and as the minister droned on, I drifted away in remembering a pleasant time I spent fishing with my uncle. He was a peaceable fellow and was content with silence besides giving me the needed instruction. I remember I used this interlude while holding the pole and watching the line float out to think my own thoughts. I was old enough then to resist the lure of playing with the line myself. In the end, I even caught a fish (though only because my uncle grabbed the pole from me when I hesitated in pulling the fish from the stream as it was too floppy and wet).

"At the funeral my father elbowed me, I looked over at him and saw he was scowling, it was so obvious that he was angry that I could not mistake his expression for anything else, but I did not understand why he was upset. Later when we were in the carriage with the doors closed he told me, 'Son, how dare you disrespect your uncle with your unseemly behavior! Undoubtedly your grieving Aunt Matilda will be hurt to learn from her other male relatives about how her nephew was grinning like an imbecile while everyone else paid him the proper respect.'

"I tried to explain. Words came easier to me now. But he was only slightly mollified. He sighed and told me, 'Fitzwilliam Darcy, do not be a fool! Keep your face blank and your mouth shut. Do you not see that if you cannot show the correct emotion, it is always more appropriate to show no emotion at all? You may seem proud or pompous, but that is proper for someone of your status. Pride, where there is a real superiority of mind (or for you, simply based on your birthright and the Darcy name) will be always under good regulation.'

"I took that lesson seriously. It was firmly fixed in my mind that it was far better to keep a bland face, to be proper, than to risk embarrassment to my family. At Father's funeral a few years later, I was determined to make him proud. I kept my face remained as still and fixed as if it were made of stone. But when I returned home to my mother after he was laid in the church-yard plot, I wept."

I felt a taste of the sadness I felt that day, which reminded me also of how I felt when Mother died. I swallowed away the threatened tears and took another deep breath. By this time, Miss Elizabeth's hand had stilled and was now resting slightly above my elbow. I felt a comforting squeeze. I forced myself to look up at her but allowed my eyes to drift away afterward.

"While I had long believed that my father did not truly trust me with his legacy as, though he left Pemberley to me and me alone, he also left detailed plans and split guardianship of Georgiana between me and Edwin. But I did not know until I learned it from Edwin in the letter he left me when departing from Rosings, that Edwin was essentially made to serve my father from beyond the grave as a guardian for me, also. His honor was engaged based on an inheritance my father left him."

I wanted to cry like a small child and receive comfort in her arms, but she was not my mother and I was not a child and there was more to tell her. "My father apparently stated that my cousin's job could be complete if Edwin became confident I could manage properly by myself. Although Edwin let me order him away, I am not sure whether I proved my independence or perhaps he just could not stand his task any longer. He should not be my keeper rather than having the opportunity to pursue his own life, his own wife. I would not blame you if after learning all of this you wish to refuse my suite."

"How can you think such a thing?" Miss Elizabeth asked me. "If I had any doubt as to your character, you have proven it by your candor."

"How can I be worthy of you?" I asked her. "Have you heard nothing I had said about the disease that may live in my loins and how I was never truly meant to be Master of Pemberley? My whole life I was to have minders and keepers. My father tasked Mr. Wickham with being my friend because my father wanted me to be like him! He is who everyone wanted as a friend, not me."

Miss Elizabeth gently answered, "No one who truly knew Mr. Wickham would want his friendship, have no doubt. It is not the number of friendships a man has that proves his value, but the quality of the friendships he does have. I have seen for myself the depth of affection between yourself and Mr. Bingley."

That made me feel a bit better, but her next words were even more helpful. "Mr. Darcy, can you not see that even if your father did not trust you, that Lady Catherine does? I cannot imagine that anything is more precious to her than her daughter. While perhaps not everyone cannot see your value, rest assured that I can."

I looked at Miss Elizabeth then and believed she meant what she said. The hurt was still there, but her faith in me had softened it. With one last squeeze of my arm, she smiled at me and then turned us back toward the house.


	36. Anne's Choices

That evening over dinner, Lady Catherine announced, "I have decided, tomorrow we will tour one of the sights that Anne has selected."

Anne clapped her hands and immediately began rattling off places she wished to go. It was the most words I had ever heard from her mouth on one occasion. As unlike Georgiana, I had no part in making the list and knew little of castles and what was most significant, I cannot say that I contributed much to the conversation, but it was just as well. Anne seemed annoyed with anyone who tried to respond to her, insisting, "I say" or "My turn" and everyone else quickly ceased saying anything at all.

I will admit that eventually I stopped listening to Anne. Instead I dwelled within my own thoughts, pleasant reveries of Miss Elizabeth. It must have been during this time that a location was decided upon.

I do recall that near the conclusion of dinner, Anne finally fell silent and the lack of monologue gained my attention. After Anne was quiet for a while, Lady Catherine turned to Anne and said, "Then it is decided. Now Anne, should you like to take your cousins, or would rather it be just me and Mrs. Jenkinson?"

Anne responded, "Not now, not now." We were quiet and Anne then began rattling off more of her thoughts of the places to go, which seemed to be rather the same as everything she had said before. Later she announced, "I want Mama and Mrs. Jenkinson."

I was pleased enough with this decision as that day had given me much to think on and I relished the idea of having a quiet day.

On Saturday, Lady Catherine, Anne and her companion left early in the morning for their excursion. They returned that evening shortly before dinner, but I did not see them until dinner. When we were all seated at the table, Anne announced, "I went, I went! I saw what she saw."

As I had not been privy to all the particulars of their outing, I asked, "Where did you go, Anne?"

She looked straight at me and said, "Hever Castle." Then she looked at Lady Catherine and said, "Mama, you tell it."

While I would have liked to hear more about it from Anne, she looked tired and she was evidently deferring to her mother's ability to explain it all much more quickly and easily. I recalled acting similarly when I was younger, when it took so much effort to explain myself.

My aunt was in fine spirits and eager to talk about the outing with Anne. She told us, "Oh, I wish you could have seen Anne's fine discernment in selecting Hever Castle, the childhood home of Anne Boleyn, for her first tour! I found the grounds with its double moats, the great hall with its wood paneling and fine tapestry and all the Tudor portraits most delightful. Anne was so excited to view the prayer books signed by Anne Boleyn, that she began to shake. I hired a man to give us a proper tour, but I should not have bothered as Anne knew more about Anne Boleyn than our guide and corrected him on several points."

There was little for me to do but listen, however, the variation of the conversation from my aunt's usual topics made the time go quickly. As they were all tired from their outing, they retired straight away after dinner.

The next morning, we attended the church service. Though being a staunch member of the Church of England was expected of me, I secretly longed for a service less stodgy and more fervent. The church service with its set readings for the day and indifferent sermon delivered by Mr. Collins did not particularly capture my attention, but perhaps no service would have when I knew Miss Bennet was near. I was very aware of her presence, wearing her yellow frock. I felt she had worn the dress that matched her ribbon as a special sign to me.

However improper, being in church with the drone of Mr. Collins' voice left me free to think. The resurrection of our Lord reminded me that I had been redeemed from sin, but also redeemed in Miss Elizabeth's eyes from evils she had feared. True, as a man I had sins enough; I did not strive enough to help others around me, I had carnal thoughts, I was often impatient and hurried, I was too focused on things of this world and myself. But I had not sought to separate Miss Bennet from Bingley, or purposely set out to harm George.

Then I prayed silently as I was wont to do. First, I recalled and recounted all the ways I felt God had guided my path toward Elizabeth, including Bingley's invitation to Netherfield and her visit to the Collinses, and thanked Him. Then I requested his help:

_I humbly ask You, God, to assist me in helping Miss Elizabeth learn who I am, that You would make me more forthright and honest, quicker to share all she needs to know. I would ask that You judge me not for my affliction but for my attempts to serve You faithfully and that when I err You would not judge me too harshly._

_God, I pray that You would likewise help me to be who Miss Elizabeth needs and for her to understand my intentions even when the results of my actions are flawed and for her to forgive me when I err. I pray that You would draw her to me and that it would be Your plan to unite us in marriage. Please place a hedge of protection around us, to protect us from the evils of the world which seem to want to separate us._

_Please, Holy Father, give me a sign when the time is right that I would know to seek her hand. I pray that she would become my bride and I her bridegroom, and that You would bless our marriage with children. I pray for children as unblemished as she and that whatever is wrong with me would die on the vine and not be passed on._

After the service there was not much time to exchange more than a greeting, but Miss Elizabeth seemed at ease with me and I felt more at ease myself, having both thanked God and having requested His assistance.

Monday, Miss Elizabeth visited once again for the purpose of practicing the pianoforte with Georgiana. I was disappointed to not be able to exchange more than a few words with her before they went to practice. Consequentially, I began waiting for the tea that was to follow earlier than I usually did. Given that Lady Catherine would be in attendance, too, I waited with her.

While we sat, Lady Catherine reviewed most thoroughly with me once again all the particulars of Anne's outing to Hever Castle before talking about possible other outings for Anne. I was pleased that my aunt had embraced broadening Anne's world, but I wished that I did not have to hear all about every possible castle and site they could visit. It seemed that the time before Miss Elizabeth and Georgiana would arrive was interminable.

Suddenly my aunt paused in her recitation, looked at a little clock on a side table in the drawing room and then exclaimed, "What can be keeping Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth?"

I glanced at the clock myself and thought it odd, they usually finished at half past four and now it was almost five o'clock.

A few moments later Georgiana ran in the room, and I rose to greet her. She grabbed my arm and said, "Brother, I must speak to you!"

Before I could say anything, Lady Catherine jumped to her feet and asked "Georgiana, whatever is the matter? Is something wrong with Anne."

Georgiana turned from me to address our aunt. Her answer confused me. She said, "No . . . yes, but not really." She bit down on her lower lip and clasped her hands tightly together; I could see her knuckles whiten even as her fingertips grew red. Then she pursed her lips, took three deep breaths and explained herself. "You see . . . Anne is upset but nothing is truly wrong, and I am certain Mrs. Jenkinson will handle it. Please Lady Catherine, it is not Anne that I am worried about and I need my brother."

With a sweep of her hand Lady Catherine dismissed us and got up, perhaps to seek out Anne.

I turned back to my sister and could not account for how much her appearance had already altered in only moments. She was trembling, sweaty and pale.

I pulled Georgiana into an embrace. I felt her body quiver and shake. "I am so sorry, Brother, truly I am."

"What is it? Whatsoever or whosoever has caused you this fright?" I felt fear; I knew that something was terribly wrong.

"I am not afraid exactly." Georgiana seemed to be trying to reason out what she was feeling, then adding, "but very sad and confused. Miss Elizabeth left."

"What do you mean?" I asked, pulling partially away so that I could look at her but still holding her close with one arm.

"I went to fetch a piece of sheet music I had forgotten in my room. All was calm when I left. Anne was telling Miss Elizabeth about her trip while Mrs. Jenkinson sewed. Even before I returned, I heard Anne yelling."

I felt a tension low in my belly. I recalled how Anne had yelled at a previous dinner and thrown things. I hoped I was wrong in what I was fearing, and, in that moment, I had no desire to be Anne's champion if she had cost me what I wanted, needed, most.

Georgiana continued, "When I reentered Mrs. Jenkinson's chambers, Anne was in a rage and Miss Elizabeth was cowering with her back to a wall while Anne yelled at her, red and angry, waving her arms around and spitting like a wild beast, ignoring her companion's attempts to soothe her."

I felt in hearing this that I could almost see how Anne had acted. I was worried. "And then what happened?" I asked, anxious for my sister to continue, so I could find out how bad things were.

Georgiana was looking up, to the distance as she remembered. "I led Miss Elizabeth from the room and to the garden. She was very upset even though Anne had never even touched her. It seems that during Anne's discussion of Anne Boleyn, Miss Elizabeth stated something about how Boleyn should have been wary of marrying King Henry VIII based on how ruthless he was in divorcing Katherine of Aragon. You can guess that Anne did not take this well and almost instantly fell into a rage."

"It is not your fault." I tried to calm Georgiana, motioning for her to sit on the nearest sofa (coincidentally the one that Anne usually favored) and then sat down beside her. "You could not have known that would happen."

"But I know how Anne can be when she is challenged! Miss Elizabeth did not." Georgiana's lower lip was quivering now. I recalled how when she was a little girl that quiver often portended that tears were to come.

I felt that I should reassure her. "Perhaps it is good that this happened. If Miss Elizabeth should become my wife one day, she should know the good and the bad, and learn how to handle Anne."

Georgiana gave a little sigh and shook her head back and forth in a "no." She responded, "That's just it, Brother, Miss Elizabeth cannot handle Anne. Anne scared her.

"I thought I could calm Miss Elizabeth if I explained more about how Anne can be and what can set her off. Miss Elizabeth listened but it did not seem to help. I tried very hard to get her to return to have our tea, but Miss Elizabeth would not return to the house."

Georgiana seemed on the verge of crying, her eyes looking wet, her lip still trembling. I wondered what this meant for Miss Elizabeth and me.

She continued, "Then I tried to walk with Miss Elizabeth back to the parsonage, but she told me, 'I am sorry Georgiana, but I need to be alone to think.' Then she added, almost to herself, 'I need to think about everything.'"

Georgiana wrung her hands. "I do not think I handled things very well. I am so sorry, Brother. I think she is questioning whether she can cope with how things are."

I asked, "How things are with Anne, or . . ." I did not finish voicing my thought, which was that perhaps Miss Elizabeth in seeing how Anne was, was now more worried about how our affliction manifested in me.

Georgiana's lower lip was now shaking and before her tears even began to fall, I pulled her back into my arms. I felt her tremble and then she began to sob. "I am so sorry brother," she told my coat. I felt like crying but my eyes remained dry.

"What do I do? Should I go to the parsonage?" I asked Georgiana, not expecting an answer. In that moment I dearly wished that Bingley were there. Surely, he would know what to do far better than my younger sister. I knew that I depended upon Georgiana far more than I should have, given her age and most especially being that she was of the gentler sex. The burden of helping me was not fair to her.

Georgiana tremulously answered, "I do not know." But then she added, "Miss Elizabeth asked for time to think, so perhaps it would be best to not call on her today." Having no idea whether my sister was correct or not, I deferred to her.


	37. Averting Disaster

I spent a restless night unable to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. Not knowing what Miss Elizabeth was thinking tormented me. At times I thought that all would be well; at other times I was convinced that nothing could be mended.

In the morning without consulting with Georgiana, I called at the parsonage. I was told the ladies were not at home and spent an uncomfortable fifteen minutes with Mr. Collins. He happily discussed his gardens for perhaps three of those minutes, praised my aunt for the next ten and then the last two were devoted to discussing how blessed he was in his marriage.

He told me, "Mr. Darcy, I would not have believed it before it happened, but my marriage has changed everything, and I recommend the marital state for all who are of age. Men are not meant to be alone; we all need to find a missus. Like the animals going onto the ark, we must all go two by two. Of course, choosing the right bride is of utmost importance. How blessed you are that you have found your future bride in Miss de Bourgh!"

Mr. Collins patted me familiarly on the shoulder, a great liberty indeed, but as I could see his hand coming, I managed not to flinch. There was perhaps a pause on his part of two or three seconds after he thumped me, but it took me longer to recover from my shock than that, or I certainly would have corrected his misapprehension about Anne. Instead I listened as he blathered on, counting the seconds until I could politely depart.

"While originally, I selected Miss Elizabeth as my future bride, it was not to be. However, it must have be preordained by God that I be joined with Charlotte. Mrs. Collins and I are like-minded; I am certain she was made for me and I for her. In the course of my cousin's visit, it has become abundantly clear that she did me a great favor in refusing my hand, though naturally enough it was unpleasant at the time."

My only response was a slight nod. I was glad that Miss Elizabeth had earlier told me of his bumbling proposal, as it allowed to react to his conversation with aplomb.

Finally, he paused long enough for me to say, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Collins. Please convey my greetings to Mrs. Collins and your guests." I rose to depart, but he would not let me leave.

Instead, I stood and suffered through a full five minutes longer of his praise of me. He said things like, "Mr. Darcy, how you have honored me with your gracious and noble condescension, in calling on me and those within my humble abode." Then, apparently unsatisfied with only praising me, he waxed on about Lady Catherine for three minutes more before he would accept my departure and allow me to pass through the parlor door. Mr. Collins even offered to walk back to Rosings with me, saying, "Allow me a moment to find my hat."

I did not, instead I said, "I am in a terrible hurry," and opened the front door myself. Perhaps it was a bit uncivil of me, but if he had delayed me more than a few seconds more, surely I would have acted quite rude. Mr. Collins hurried after me and I almost broke into a run. Fortunately, he stopped after a few moments, calling out loudly, "Mr. Darcy you are always welcome to come see us and certainly next time I will walk back with you."

I did not trust that he had indeed turned back until I was more than halfway from the parsonage and took a moment to glance around. Finally, I was willing and able to slow my stride a bit.

On this second part of my return walk to Rosings, I was able to clear my head of visions of Mr. Collins pursuing me. However, my mind kept circling back to whether I might also be rejected by Miss Elizabeth like the parson was and if that occurred what would become of me. My previous plan of simply picking a suitable woman to give me children no longer had any appeal. I had no illusions that if Miss Elizabeth rejected me that there would be someone as kind as Miss Lucas waiting for me.

Miss Elizabeth did not come to play the piano forte on Wednesday or Friday, instead sending her regrets. I supposed it made sense to avoid the setting that had caused her such unhappiness, but I was hopeful I would see her on Saturday as she was engaged to come to tea at Rosings with the Collinses and Miss Lucas.

When they arrived without her, I felt despair. Mr. Collins apologized to my aunt profusely for her absence, saying, "My cousin's headache was quite severe you may be sure, to keep her from your gracious hospitality. Indeed, Lady Catherine, you can be confident that she understands well how solicitous you have been of her in allowing her to spend time with your niece."

As Mr. Collins spoke on and on, I quietly asked Mrs. Collins, "Was Miss Elizabeth suffering a headache yesterday as well?"

"Yes," Mrs. Collins replied, but did not meet my eyes. I wondered if Miss Elizabeth's headache might be an excuse for her monthly indisposition. Georgiana had taught me that a headache was a common excuse to prevent having to talk about unseemly matters. I waited and then Mrs. Collins looked up and told me, "She is out of sorts."

Was that a confirmation? If so, perhaps her absence had nothing to do with Anne's outburst at all. I felt a flicker of hope.

"Please tell her . . ." I began, only to somehow attract the attention of Lady Catherine who leaned toward us and interjected, "Oh, what are you conversing about, Darcy? I must have my share of the conversation."

"I have just been asking after Miss Elizabeth," I confessed.

"Is she ill?" Lady Catherine inquired, apparently forgetting already what Mr. Collins had been telling her, if she had been paying attention at all. "Has she allergies to the new blooms? She neglected to visit Georgiana and to practice her playing twice this week. I do hope she has not become discouraged about her playing. Constant practice is most essential."

I wondered at Lady Catherine not making the connection between Anne's outburst and Miss Elizabeth avoiding Rosings. Then it occurred to me that perhaps Lady Catherine believed that if she ignored that issue, Miss Elizabeth might simply return of her own accord.

To Lady Catherine's statements about practicing, no one made any reply. When Lady Catherine was well occupied in attending to something that Georgiana was saying, Mrs. Collins breathed to me, "Mr. Darcy, surely you must know that Eliza needs reassurance."

I felt she was wanting me to do something, but I was unsure what I should do. Sometimes things that may be obvious to others evade me.

Mrs. Collins gave a little sigh. "She is at the parsonage presently." She inclined her head slightly toward the door and then I finally understood what she thought I should do.

I arose and addressed everyone together, "I have forgotten a matter of some importance that I must attend to but will return when I can." As I was walking away, I wondered if they believed I was heading for the necessary.

I slipped out of the house and walked directly to the stables. Even though I was not dressed for riding, I was not going to reprise my prior error of just running after Miss Elizabeth and appearing unsuitable for company. As I was waiting for my horse to be saddled, I could not help but wonder whether I should have consulted with and gotten advice from my sister. I considered whether I should just go for a ride instead and clear my thoughts. Yet when my horse was ready, I rode straight for the parsonage and called on Miss Elizabeth.

Miss Elizabeth seemed very surprised to see me, standing up momentarily which knocked a light-yellow blanket from her lap. Perhaps indeed she was unwell.

She sat down again and leaned down to pluck the blanket from the floor, giving me a quick view of her décolletage, which would have normally been concealed by the modest neckline of her light blue gown. Her face pinked upon seeing me, but once she was sitting down with the blanket (which was too light of yellow to match the ribbon in my pocket) arranged over her lap again, her bright eyes became dull as marbles.

I suspected Miss Elizabeth did not want me there and I was uncertain as to whether I should leave or not. Not knowing what to say, I stood in silence for several moments before stating, "I hope that your headache has left you, or at least is no worse."

"It is not worse," she said, but no smile did she give me. It was as if we were strangers and I felt a disquieting feeling inside.

Anxious to make that feeling go away, I begged, "Please tell me what is wrong. Georgiana said Anne scared you, but why should that make you avoid me?"

Miss Elizabeth remained silent and only gave a tiny shrug. I tried to sit but then realized she had never invited me to do so. I walked around the room instead and when I was facing away from her, I finally had the courage to say more. I told her, "You demanded my honesty to know the real me."

Not a sound did I hear from her, and not knowing what expression she might be making was worse than not seeing. I turned around and only saw that same blank look. "Miss Elizabeth, do I not have the right to demand the same? Please, I beg of you, can you not share with me what you are thinking and feeling?"

"I cannot," she said, her eyes more expressive than before. But then she turned her face away from me and proclaimed, "I do not wish to hurt you."

"Telling me nothing is hurting me, too." My voice sounded rough and foreign.

I thought that her silence meant she was considering my words, so I waited. Finally, she looked back over in my general direction and spoke to my middle. "Mr. Darcy, you have told me when you were a boy you had terrible tantrums." Her eyes rose slightly, now looking at my cravat, "When is the last time you were truly angry?"

I felt myself blush as I recalled the interaction with Edwin. Before that it had been when confronting George about Georgiana. I would be honest. "A few days ago, with the Colonel."

"Tell me, what did you do?" I heard Miss Elizabeth's disembodied voice as I strode about the room in an agitated manner. I could not help but notice she asked what I did and not what he did to cause my reaction. I slid my hand in my pocket, taking reassurance from touching her ribbon for just a moment.

"I became angry. I wanted to strike my cousin or challenge him to a duel, but I did neither. I left and went to my room. I certainly had cause for my reaction." I hoped she would ask me what he did, but she did not.

"Have you ever struck a person?" Miss Elizabeth's words were like a blow to my middle and my stomach hurt with a physical pain.

I did not like where her questions were going, but I would answer anything for at least she was talking with me. "I remember kicking Governess Hayes once or twice. I was no more than eight years then. George and I fought each other before when we were lads, but mostly I have avoided people when angry."

I paused and looked over at Miss Elizabeth to gauge her reaction. I wished so strongly at that time that I could tell what her facial expression meant. She was not smiling or frowning; I thought perhaps she was thinking hard.

"Have you ever hurt your mother or your sister?" Now she was looking perhaps at my chin.

"No, never!" I felt deeply insulted that she would suggest I could ever treat them that way.

"Did they ever have reason to think you would hurt them? Were they ever afraid of you?" Her questions were coming quicker now, but she still was not meeting my eyes.

I thought long and hard about that. While I was thinking I could feel myself nodding rhythmically.

It was hard to know if my mother and sister had ever been afraid of me. I hoped not. The idea of it was distasteful but I was not sure how to answer as I was not them. I did not know what they thought or felt unless they told me. Had they ever been afraid? I was not sure. "I do not believe so. I do not recall them ever saying so. You may certainly ask Georgiana."

"And would she tell me, I wonder, if you had scared her? She seeks very vigorously to promote you interests." Miss Elizabeth was speaking with more feeling now. She finally looked at me for just a moment and then looked away. I noticed then that Miss Elizabeth appeared stiff and her elbows were pulled tight against the side of her body, pulling the blanket taut over her lap, while her hands grasped the arms of the chair. Her form was beautiful even with the blanket atop her.

I walked some more as I could not be still, and I heard my footsteps clomping very loudly in the silence, like horse hoofs. I stopped my pacing before answering. "Georgiana is always sincere and honest. I believe she would tell you the truth if asked, even if it was hard for her. To what do all these questions relate?" I paused from walking and looked at her. Again, she would not meet my gaze. I noticed that her near hand was trembling a bit even though she was still tightly connected to the arm of the chair.

Miss Elizabeth responded, "I am trying to make out your character. You have told me you are like Anne and I wonder if you would ever act as she did." She looked up at me, bit her lower lip and then said in a rush, "I cannot live in fear."

I suddenly remembered Mrs. Collins's words, "Eliza needs reassurance." I considered whether I had yet provided it. I recalled occasions when Georgiana had needed similar reassurance from me. Strangely enough I felt more at ease because it was very clear that Miss Elizabeth certainly was not indifferent toward me.

It was improper, but I sat down near her and reached over to take her nearer bare hand, the left one, lightly tugging it away from the arm of the chair. I would not have dared to do so if her hand had rested in her lap. She let me.

I gave Miss Elizabeth's hand a gentle squeeze, very aware of how it felt to touch her skin and grasp her hand. It was warm, soft, and smooth. In feeling her hand, I was reminded of seeing the flash of her décolletage. I wondered if it would be even softer and smoother than her hand, but almost immediately tried to rein in my thoughts and focus on the present.

I looked at our joined hands as I spoke some more, trying to gentle my voice. "I also told you Anne is different than me. I had many advantages she did not but perhaps also her condition has always been worse than my own. I have had to learn self-control; she has not."

I squeezed Miss Elizabeth's hand three times and then gently lay it down on the arm of the chair once more. I did not want her to think I was too forward. "That is why I pause and consider before I answer and am deliberate in all things. I remove myself from a situation if I cannot behave. I know things that I can do to soothe myself which may be unseemly in company but help me return to myself. You have asked if I have hurt people. Things were always more likely to be the focus of my wrath than persons."

I confided, hoping my honesty would be rewarded and not instead become another reason for avoiding me, "I have broken and destroyed things before, but none since my youth, at least none that mattered. Sometimes I collect pebbles and throw them in a stream or use a hatchet to cut down a tree. I have found that physical work can serve as well as breaking things and relieve my anxiety."

I added, "There is something helpful about engaging in the same motion over and over. Or sometimes I may need a quiet place away from everyone where everything is under my control, to rock and nod and cover myself up. I have places at Pemberley where I may safely go to relieve all anxiety."

I heard a shuddering breath leave her. "That is good," was all Miss Elizabeth said. We were both silent for two or three minutes.

"Is there aught else that troubles you?" I asked after the silence had stretched on and on. I longed to hold Miss Elizabeth's hand again, to offer some reassurance.

"I know not what to think," she said quietly. I looked over at her and it seemed to me she was looking more like herself, her dark eyes more at ease.

I found myself blowing out a deep breath and relaxing a little. "What can I do?" I asked, leaning slightly forward.

"Tell me about Miss de Bourgh; why did she become so angry?" Her voice sounded odd. As she waited for my answer, Miss Elizabeth finally glanced at me before her eyes returned to her lap. It bothered me that I could not look into her eyes and I wondered if that was what other people experienced when I did not look at them.

"You did nothing wrong," I explained. "Anne has certain firm ideas that she does not like contradicted. I do not know what they all are, but I know she especially is protective of Anne Boleyn and any other woman named Anne, especially one who is royalty. She feels that every Anne is a part of her and that an Anne can do no wrong."

I gave her time to think about that or ask any questions, but Miss Elizabeth remained silent. I finally continued. "Anne wants us to take part in her interests but only talk about them in the manner she has preordained. In her play we are puppets that she directs, each playing a set part. We can perhaps expand on that part but not alter it. When you unknowingly altered her script, she lost the control that she craves, it made her anxious and she lashed out."

"I do not understand why she is like that," Miss Elizabeth admitted, her voice sounding less strained.

"I do not fully either. When I was a young child my actions were similar to hers now, but it is hard to recall what I thought and felt then. I do remember that my strings made me feel safe and their loss made me anxious. However, anytime I lashed out in anger and was out of control I felt worsening anxiety, my world all adrift. I knew I was not to act that way and I felt awful afterwards."

"I am a bit afraid to see Miss de Bourgh again," Miss Elizabeth admitted and her body tensed, but she met my eyes. "If Miss de Bourgh saw me again, how would she react, do you think?"

"Georgiana says she has said she is sorry and has asked why you have not come to call." I wanted to reassure her, but also prepare her, so I explained, "However, when Anne sees you next she may remember her past anger and agitation, and repeat whatever angry words she used with you before, but it would be a shadow of her past anger and hopefully quickly run its course."

Miss Elizabeth shifted slightly in her chair, so that she was turned more toward me. "I should like to see her again if it could be as before when she was happy with me, but I fear doing something to set her off again."

"I think it shall be that way again, though there may be some awkwardness at first. Georgiana felt responsible for leaving you with her and not warning you and says it shall never happen again. She and I have missed you."

Miss Elizabeth looked up at me again. I noticed that her eyes looked wet, as if she were holding back tears. Was it me who was making her nearly cry?

She told me, "I have been so scared, but I see I have nothing to fear from you." She smiled, sniffed, delicately dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief and then reached out with her free left hand. I clasped it in my right. Together, we held the other's hand tight.

I felt a disaster had been averted. There was still hope. I wished I could speak of my ardent admiration and love, to tell her of the strength of my attachment and ask to be rewarded by her acceptance of my hand, but I knew it was too soon.

With one final squeeze, I then removed my hand. "I must go. It would not do for me to remain when the Collinses arrive home. May Georgiana and I call on you tomorrow?"

"Yes, you may." Finally, she gave me a smile. It was smaller than her usual smile, still I felt the improvement of her mood from what it had been a half an hour before.

I stood up, gave her a deep bow and admired her form as she curtseyed in return. I wished her a good day and departed.

I decided to ride my horse for a while, fearing that if I returned too soon that everyone would know where I had been. I feared there was not yet enough time left to woo and win Miss Elizabeth before she and Miss Lucas were scheduled to depart for London on the following Saturday.

When I finally returned to Rosings the Collinses had long ago departed but Georgiana waited for me. "Brother, are you well?" She asked, looking at me with a slight frown.

I looked down at my clothes which were rumpled from my ride. I was sure I looked unkempt and smelled of horse.

"I am better, now. Would you like to join me? I plan to look for a book in the library."

Georgiana nodded her understanding. The library was often a good place to talk without interruption. As I escorted her there, she told me about finally being able to draw shy Miss Lucas into some conversation. "She is a sweet girl, but our aunt intimidates her so. I am glad Miss Elizabeth can hold her own against Lady Catherine."

When we were finally alone, I told her about my conversation with Miss Elizabeth and asked her to join me for the call. "Do you realize," she asked, "that by asking to call on Sunday and her accepting, she is acknowledging us both as close friends? Sunday calls are for close friends and family."

I confessed to not even considering the matter. "You may not have, but Miss Elizabeth surely knows." She smiled happily. "Oh Brother, you were so wise to slyly slip out and call on her when everyone else was occupied. While you did not obey Lady Catherine's strictures on propriety, even she would be pleased if thereby she is restored as Anne's friend. Mayhap soon she will be my sister."

I was less certain and explained, "I think she might sooner be ready to claim you as a sister than me as her bridegroom. You are everything sweet and she has naught to fear from you. Tell me, oh sister of mine, have I ever given you cause to fear me? Miss Elizabeth asked, and I did not truly know. I hoped not."

"Not since I was very young indeed," Georgiana said quietly, looking up at me while giving my arm a little squeeze. "I do not think I knew why you were angry, but you were hitting broken branches against that old oak tree's wide trunk. After a few blows they would shatter and then you would either hit some more with the longer remaining piece or seek another fallen stick. I was taking a walk with mother when you came quite close to us to look for another branch, but as we were far to your side you did not appear to see us."

I tried to visualize the scene that was evidently clearly before her, to try to remember the day she was recalling. I was snapped into remembering with her next sentence.

"There had been a windstorm and the gardeners had not yet collected all the debris to pile for later kindling. I wanted to help you find sticks, but mother held me firmly by the hand when I tried to leave her side and go towards you. I must have made some sound because you paused, turned, and looked straight at us. You did not look like yourself. It was as if your body was that of Fitzwilliam, but you wore another man's angry face. You had the wild eyes of the wolf in one of my story books. I did not know you, and that frightened me so much that I began to cry." Georgiana paused for a moment, sliding her hands along her skirt.

I recalled pushing myself to gather and destroy more and more sticks. I did not recall exactly why I was so angry that day, but I did recall feeling out of control, a storm inside. I did not remember even noticing my mother and sister were outside that day. I continued breaking things until my arms ached, my back was sore and my hands could grasp and hit no more.

"Mother said, 'We must leave Fitzwilliam alone for now. He is angry and must spend his anger so he can return to himself.' Then she told me a story she must have made up in her head just then, about a man cursed to become an ogre when angry, who would swell up to twice his size and throw rocks so hard that they would shatter into thousands of pebbles. She told me other examples about what his feats of angry strength would cause, but I do not remember them now. She then told me, 'Your brother is nothing like that angry ogre but like him you must leave him alone when he is angry, until his anger departs, and he becomes your brother again.' I have never forgotten that lesson and I have learned that my brother always returns."

I hugged her then. "I am sorry that you have ever had cause to fear me. I was mad about something George did but I cannot recall what it was. It seems to me that tomorrow if you can arrange to have some time alone with Miss Elizabeth, it would be well if you shared that story with her. I do not wish to hide anything from her. I would not have her chose me without understanding me."

Georgiana agreed to do so and then said, "I have been thinking about the problem of Miss Elizabeth leaving before she is ready for your declaration. Perhaps we can enlist our aunt's aid in trying to extend Miss Elizabeth's visit. If the great Lady Catherine suggests it, surely Mr. Collins will rapidly act to do all he can to ensure her pleasure in making it happen."


	38. Making Plans

The church service itself was uneventful, but afterwards while Georgiana and I were waiting to speak to Miss Elizabeth (she and several other ladies were gathered around an infant who had been baptized just that morning and Georgiana was caught up in all the admiring talk), I observed what seemed to be an intense discussion between Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins and Lady Catherine. I was too far away, and the chatter of other people was too loud (speaking of the baby's tiny hands, darling face and lovely baptismal gown) for me to make out more than a few words.

I heard, "not . . .Anne's intended" from Lady Catherine as she gestured widely and "cousin?" from Mr. Collins, followed by a distinctive frown. I could not hear any words from Mrs. Collins and her back was towards me as well, so I had no idea of her reaction to whatever was being discussed.

I hoped Mr. Collins was being corrected in his misapprehension that Lady Catherine had earlier firmly fostered in everyone that I was engaged to Anne. However, I feared she was also telling him of my interest in Miss Elizabeth. There was no telling how Mr. Collins might try to help forward a match between me and Miss Elizabeth. I suspected his "help" might be more than I could bear.

I strained to hear additional words, but they were all speaking more quietly now and there was no hope for me hearing anything unless I were to go closer. I considered doing just that when I was interrupted by my sister lightly pinching my arm to get my attention. I turned and asked, "What is it?"

"Look, Brother." She gestured with a finger. I then saw that Miss Elizabeth had somehow ended up holding the baby (I could not recall whether it was a boy or girl, they all look the same in their baptismal gowns and all the gowns that infants wear) while the mother attended to another one of her children. The baby was against Miss Elizabeth's shoulder and the baby was drooling on her pale pink gown, forming a large darker blotch as she had no cloth to protect her shoulder.

I had the impulse to offer her my handkerchief, had already drawn it from my pocket, when Georgiana said, "Not here, not before everyone." I nodded and secreted it back in my pocket, seeing the wisdom of her words. Until we had an understanding, it would not do to offer such familiarity. I longed, though, to have the freedom to do much for her. I took that moment when my hand was in my pocket, to locate the little ribbon, to assure myself it was there, beneath the handkerchief I was tucking over it.

Well after church on Sunday, I prepared to call on Miss Elizabeth with Georgiana. However, I was dismayed when, as the carriage was being readied for my sister (I would of course ride beside it as usual), Lady Catherine appeared and declared, "I must certainly accompany you both on your call on the Collinses. You will see, I will sort everything out to your satisfaction so that you may resume your courtship."

No matter my personal feelings on her deciding to come with us, I certainly was in no position to refuse. Lady Catherine's addition to the party was hard to adjust to and I felt disquieted in how to alter my plans to accommodate her being along on the call. I did not want to make a single error, but I also resolved to be whom I am as Miss Elizabeth had requested.

When we arrived and conversation began in the front parlor which faced the drive (rather than in the back parlor where I had talked with Miss Elizabeth twice), I quickly determined that Lady Catherine's kindly interference once again relegated me to mere observer as she dominated the conversation with Mr. Collins, who was all agreement as her faithful servant. After the usual greetings, my aunt exclaimed, "We have all certainly missed your company, Miss Bennet. You must certainly resume practicing the pianoforte with Georgiana again. Perhaps Anne's little outburst may have been a touch disquieting, but Anne is very sorry for the disagreement and hopes to see you again very soon."

"Thank you, Madam," was all the reply Miss Elizabeth gave. I wondered to which of Lady Catherine's pronouncements Miss Elizabeth was responding.

However, her response must have been sufficient for my aunt as immediately, Lady Catherine launched into an extensive discussion of the outing she had with Anne, about how much she had learned and praised her daughter's knowledge and discernment, and their plans for future outings. None of us made more than the briefest of comments and it seemed she was not looking for anything more.

However, then Lady Catherine smoothly segued into observing, "Miss Elizabeth you seem out of spirits. You must not want to go home again so soon. Since that is the case, you must write to your mother to beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure, as will we all, including Darcy."

I understood then what Lady Catherine's purpose had been in joining our call. Likely, Georgiana had discussed with Lady Catherine our desire for Miss Elizabeth to extend her visit with the Collinses, citing Anne's behavior as causing a rift between us and not giving me enough time to make my suit.

Mr. Collins rapidly agreed on behalf of himself and his wife, saying, "Cousin Elizabeth, please let me humbly request the extension of your visit as a personal favor to myself and Mrs. Collins. You may stay as long as you wish."

I wondered how Miss Lucas felt as the sister of Mrs. Collins, not being begged to stay longer, but was immediately distracted by that thought by Miss Elizabeth's reply. "I am much obliged to your ladyship and my Cousin Collins for your kind invitation, but it is not in my power to accept it.—I must be in town on Saturday."

My aunt scrunched her lips together before responding, "Why, at that rate, you will have been here only six weeks. I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no occasion for you going so soon. Mrs. Bennet could certainly spare you for another fortnight."

"But my father cannot.—He wrote last week to hurry my return." I tried to determine for myself if she was happy to be leaving or regretting that she could not stay longer, but I could not make out what her face might have told someone else.

"Oh! your father of course may spare you, if your mother can.—Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father."

Mr. Collins seemed anxious to speak, and when Lady Catherine paused he added, "Cousin, I can certainly write to your father and request that he extend you visit; surely he would understand how indispensable you are to the present company," he nodded at me, "and that there are certain things here that are yet in motion and not yet completed."

Was Mr. Collins thinking of my wish to formalize my relationship with Miss Elizabeth? Had my aunt discussed even that with him?

Miss Elizabeth blushed before responding. "I thank all of you for the kindness of the invitation, but all the plans for our return are already in motion and I believe we must abide by our original plan."

Finally, I found an opening to speak, to do what I could for myself: "May I please request one small alteration?" I saw everyone turn to look at me and I wished to be far away from all those staring eyes, but I kept my head raised rather than retreating into myself, focusing on looking at Miss Elizabeth rather than the others. All were quiet and let me continue.

"My sister and I plan to depart soon as well. I know she will join me in issuing an invitation for Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lucas to join our traveling party to London. We can arrange to depart on your original date. The ladies may all ride together in our carriage while I ride beside."

"What a wonderful idea, Brother." Georgiana was quick to join in endorsing the idea. "I should so like the lively conversation of my two new friends."

"Oh, I insist that you join them, Miss Bennet" there was a little pause before she added "and Miss Lucas." I wondered why my aunt had hesitated in speaking her name. Could it be that she had trouble recalling it?

Then she added, a little more stridently, "You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the ides of two young women traveling by post by themselves. It is highly improper. You must certainly accept the invitation, as a personal favor to me."

I heard Miss Lucas quietly say, "I would like this arrangement if Elizabeth will agree."

I did not know if Miss Elizabeth liked the idea or not, for she had said nothing yet. Her expression was pleasant, but I know that people can school their faces to not reveal their true emotions, but this is not a talent that I possess. I can only still my face, rather than make myself look happy when sad. I wondered, if she were to accept, whether she might merely be consenting based on Lady Catherine's hearty recommendation and Miss Lucas's endorsement of such a plan. I wondered if I had erred in making my proposal before everyone.

Miss Elizabeth responded, looking first at me and then at my sister, "How can I but agree when convenience and good company are assured. I will write to my father and uncle to let them know of this change in the plans."

I was already picturing riding my horse beside the carriage and catching glimpses of Miss Elizabeth through the carriage window yet wishing I could be inside it with her alone.

"We will have such a lovely time," Georgiana exclaimed. Shortly after that she prevailed on Miss Elizabeth to show her the new chicks. A few minutes later, having exceeded a visit of a half hour, we returned to Rosings.

After the visit Georgiana and I retreated to the Rosing's library to talk. As I idly took a book off the shelve and randomly opened it somewhere in the middle, she told me, "Those little chicks are surprisingly engaging, all fluffy and wandering in various directions, however Miss Elizabeth paid them no mind when I told her how you had asked me if I had ever been scared of you and what I had remembered then."

I placed that book back and riffled through another as Georgiana briefly summarized their exchange and told me about suggestions she provided Miss Elizabeth for handling Anne and then told me, "Miss Elizabeth has agreed to try resuming our practices together. I think she is still wary of seeing Anne again," my sister added, "but not you. She understands what we are trying to do for Anne and why we feel compelled to do so and will assist while here in Hunsford if Anne will warm toward her once more."

I placed the book back in the empty space where it belonged, turned toward my sister and told her, "Thank you, Georgiana," I told her. We exchanged smiles and then I began looking in earnest for a book that I might read.

That evening after dinner, I retreated to my chambers as I was of no mood to be in company with Lady Catherine and Anne. I paced back and forth in the room, and it took a while before I could put a name to how I was feeling, but finally was able to arrive at the fact that I felt anxious because of Miss Elizabeth's visit on the morrow.

I forced myself to lay on the bed and read as an appropriate calming activity. Although I tried my best to read "The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere" in _Lyrical Ballads_ , I could not become absorbed in the sailor's story and stopped at the end of the first section of three, finishing the last stanza which ended with lines 76-80:

"God save thee, ancyent Marinere!  
"From the fiends that plague thee thus—  
"Why look'st thou so?"—with my cross bow  
I shot the Albatross.

I closed the book and plonked it on the floor; it made a nice loud thunk, but it was not at such a height that it could have harmed the book. My dropping of it was controlled. Seeing as how reading was not helping me, I decided to indulge myself in playing a sort of game.

I waited until Jeffrey had come and gone after helping me to prepare for bed (he retrieved the book from the floor and placed it on a table where I had some other books). Then I retrieved the ribbon from my coat pocket, beneath its handkerchief bed, and held it in my hand. I reclined upon my bed while holding it.

To someone observing me, I might have appeared to be doing nothing much, but if someone could have glimpsed inside my mind, they would have found me well occupied, fully immersed in a game I have played at least 1,793 times before with my string (since I was old enough to mark pencil to paper I have marked tally-marks upon some paper to record how many times I have played the game and counted them up, but sometimes the sheet was thrown out). It was something I had arrived upon as if by accident when Governess Hayes had seized all my snakes and worms, but it had taken me some months to discover that I could imagine my play things even when they were not present and some further months to allow my mind to roam as far as making the ropes and strings be different from what they actually were.

In recent years, I typically played this game with my string and it was different now as the shiny, flat ribbon replaced the greyish brown, rounded and fuzzy string. It made the game different, but the variation of it was still pleasant.

I imagined the ribbon in my hand getting longer, stretching out, unfurling, growing impossibly long. I could see it spanning from one end of the room to the other, bursting forth suddenly like popcorn. As if I were drawing a line on paper, my mind drew out its path. But it was not the flattened path of a line on paper as the ribbon took up space in all dimensions, anchoring itself on a baroque feature of the large wardrobe, then diving down to loop under my stockinged foot, swirling around my leg in a diagonal path and then over to the bedpost, where after forming a single loop it flew off in quest of more objects to attach itself to or surround. The ribbon piled up, lightly reflecting the light (first the sunlight from the window and then the candle light when it grew dark), building up on itself until it became endless and filled my whole room, surrounding me in an elaborate web.

Before I fell asleep, I remembered to place the ribbon back in a drawer and let the imagined ribbon continue to grow longer and trace ever more intricate patterns. I fell asleep surrounded this imagined ribbon, gossamer thin, surrounding everything. In the morning when I awoke, I could not recall every twist and turn, but I remembered much of the path it had taken and I traced its path back in reverse as it retracted, until the room emptied and there was just a bit of imagined ribbon in my hand. I felt a bit sad to see it almost entirely vanish, so I imagined that last little bit wrapping around my wrist and arm.

I felt more settled, calm. Still, I longed to see Miss Elizabeth as soon as I could. Although, I knew it wasn't entirely proper, I thought if I set out for a walk a half an hour before she was due to arrive, perhaps I might be able to accompany her back to Rosings.

While I was walking, my hand strayed often to my pocket to caress the ribbon concealed there. I kept thinking of her whose dress it belonged to and what it would feel like to glide my finger over the other parts of her dress while she wore it that were festooned by its mates, all likely cut from the same spool of ribbon. It wasn't nearly so improper to imagine lightly touching the ribbon encircling her upper arm, as that of the one near her neck. Thoughts like this kept me occupied on my walk.

Luck was with me as I was close to the Hunsford parsonage when I spotted Miss Elizabeth walking toward me with a basket of flowers, coming not from the parsonage, but the woods. I greeted her and she rewarded me with a bright smile. She was wearing a light green gown with embroidered flowers along the bottom of the gown with smaller flowers upon the bodice and her usual bonnet. It was a warm day and she had foregone a wrap. The color brought out a hint of green to her dark eyes.

I asked, "Miss Elizabeth, may I carry your basket?"

She smiled and told me, "You may. I collected these wildflowers for Anne as a sort of peace offering." I offered my arm and she took it. We walked together toward and then down the lane. I felt well and wished I could keep walking with her forever, or at least well past Rosings.

"You may think it is silly," she told me, "given that Anne was the one who was mean to me, but I feel better having something for her even though these combined flowers would not make a good arrangement."

I did not think it strange at all, instead it was just another sign of her kind heart wishing to resume a good relationship with my cousin. Could perhaps this effort be for me, I wondered, or did she simply seek to help my cousin and spend time with Georgiana once more? I knew it was silly to seek any sign that someday her heart might belong to me.

While I recognized many of the flowers, I did not know the names of most, besides the daisies and the bluebells so I asked her, "Do you know the names of all of these flowers?"

Miss Elizabeth paused walking, I stopped also and the two of us looked into her basket. I could not help but think of how our posture resembled two parents peering into a cradle to admire their sleeping babe. I could imagine her with a baby after having seen her with the baby just the day before.

"I do not know all the names myself," she told me, "but this one is a bluebell and this other one is a foxglove. I was particularly happy to find these flowers," she said pointing to two kinds. "These yellow flowers are kingcups. I think she will like the name. These blue ones are forget-me-nots. They are associated with King Henry the Fourth. I hope she has no problem with him!"

"What is the association?" I asked her, peering at the tiny blue flowers. I was trying to determine whether anything in the association would create a problem for Anne.

"When he was Henry of Lancaster and banished, during his year in exile, 1398, the forget-me-nots became his emblem and motto. His supporters would wear embroidered forget-me-nots on their clothes to show their support."

"I cannot see anything in that which should cause a difficulty," I answered. "I do not think the fact that he was also named Henry should be a problem. It is well that you incorporated her interest."

"Do you think she will like them?" She persisted.

"I imagine so." Although a woman would never pick flowers for a man, I could not help but be wistful and wish that her regard had resulted in her collecting the forget-me-nots for me. While I had not known the King Henry the Fourth's story, I knew that these flowers were a symbol of true love.

Then I realized I had never given a thought to giving her flowers. While it was not entirely proper, maybe I could select some for her. I would have to talk to Georgiana to see if she thought I should do so or not. Would Miss Elizabeth recognize what I was thinking, if I brought forget-me-nots to her?

When we arrived at Rosings, Georgiana left immediately to fetch Anne. Earlier that morning Georgiana had discussed with me the best way for Anne and Miss Elizabeth to see each other again. We had agreed that it would be prudent for them to meet together in front of us, before they went to play piano forte.

We made idle conversation for a few minutes, but I was almost certain she was discomforted for she plucked at her skirt as she sat. When Georgiana came back with Anne, the basket lay forgotten on a side table when Elizabeth rose to greet her.

Anne said, "I am sorry," as she was obviously coached to do, but then added, somewhat angrily, "Anne was right. I know she was right. She was right! King Henry the Eighth was wrong."

"Of course, he was!" Miss Elizabeth cried out loudly. "He acted very wrong indeed."

Anne seemed pleased as she nodded to herself and then rushed to embrace Miss Elizabeth, who startled momentarily with the speed of Anne's action, but quickly placed her arms around Anne. "I missed you," Anne confided, looking Miss Elizabeth right in the eyes for a moment before laying her head down on Miss Elizabeth's lower shoulder, snuggling her face against Miss Elizabeth's neck. Miss Elizabeth patted Anne somewhat awkwardly as Anne spoke once more, "Glad you are here, can we play music some more?"

Miss Elizabeth assured her, "Of course we can." She seemed to more at ease when Anne loosened her hold. Far sooner than I had expected, the ladies began leaving the room. I realised I had been completely superfluous, but as they left Miss Elizabeth glanced back at me, smiled, and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

I smiled back, uncertain as to what I had done. Perhaps it was just accompanying her back to Rosings, listening while she talked about the flowers? Whatever it was, I felt a wave of gratitude that she was here, thanking me.

I wished that I could just embrace Miss Elizabeth as Anne had done, rather than hoping to just feel her hand on my arm or to hold her hand for a moment. Someday, I told myself, when we are married and together alone, I may embrace her. I settled in with _Lyrical Ballads_ again to wait until they would return for tea.


	39. The Language of Flowers

Miss Elizabeth and Georgiana seemed much more relaxed when they returned. Anne was with them and seemed happy as well. It fell to me to reminded Miss Elizabeth of the flowers. I plucked the basket off the table and brought it to Miss Elizabeth, giving her a little bow. She immediately arose and brought it to Anne who was sitting on her usual sofa. Anne had discarded her slippers and placed her feet upon the sofa, hidden under her skirts. Her navy blanket hung down over the arm of the sofa.

Miss Elizabeth brought the basket to Anne and said, "Miss de Bourgh, I neglected to give these flowers to you earlier."

Anne grasped the flowers from the basket and spread them across the empty spot on the sofa. She said, "Pretty flowers" as she petted the blooms as if they were the coat of a soft living creature. Anne's eyes were fixed on the flowers and I noticed that she had not thanked Miss Elizabeth for the gift. Miss Elizabeth started naming some of the flowers and telling Anne about the history of the forget-me-nots, but Anne did not appear to be listening.

A moment later Anne pulled a daisy out from the mass of blooms and began plucking the petals off it, flinging each one with great gusto to the rug below her (with some falling upon her slippers) and repeating: "He loves me, he loves me not."

When the daisy was half plucked, Anne set the flower upon her lap, grabbed another daisy and held it out towards Miss Elizabeth. Anne said to her, "You should do it, too."

Miss Elizabeth blushed and looked at me.

Georgiana said gently, "Anne, you are making a mess. This is an outdoor game." She got up and stood by Anne's side. She said, "May we put the flowers back in the basket and take them outside?"

I worried that Anne would reject this idea, but on this occasion, she seemed remarkably compliant. She nodded and twirled the two daisies by rubbing her hands back and forth. She seemed to ignore what Georgiana was doing until the basket was filled once more, but then she flung her stocking feet down and swung them back and forth, the balls of her stocking-clad feet sweeping back and forth, dragging on the rug.

"Put your slippers on, Anne," Georgiana instructed, even as Mrs. Jenkinson was coming to assist Anne.

Anne turned to Mrs. Jenkinson and said, "Anne will do it." She slid off the sofa, sat upon the floor and put her slippers on, unmindful of decorum. As Anne contracted her right leg to slide her foot into the slipper, I saw much more of her leg than I would have liked, including some of the whitish skin above the ribbon tie of her stocking. I averted my eyes before she slid the other shoe on, not looking back in her direction until a flash of movement told me she had risen.

Although there was no guile in her, it became ever more apparent to me how much Anne would need to be closely guarded, should that responsibility ever fall to me. How many men seeking fortune might take advantage of her innocent actions!

Georgiana led Anne in the direction of the garden. As Anne walked, she resumed repeating her rhyme and flinging petals as they headed for the door, with Mrs. Jenkinson trailing after them, moving awkwardly when she stepped with her weaker leg. I was glad for her sake that apparently Mrs. Jenkinson felt no obligation to pick up the discarded petals.

This left me with Miss Elizabeth under the supervision of Mrs. Annesley. No tea had yet been prepared so Mrs. Annesley settled herself in a corner with her knitting. What had before been a narrow strip of white knit yarn the last time she had supervised us, was now taking shape as a sweater. I felt a momentary desire to grab it, pull out the needles and unravel it.

Miss Elizabeth walked over to the opposite corner and took a seat on a settee, motioning for me to sit beside me. I welcomed the gesture and sat a respectful distance from her. She turned toward me and commented, "I have no need for childhood games . . ." adding with a small smile, "as I already know the answer."

"Yes," I responded, "I have made no secret of it. My intentions are as clear as I can make them. Now, do tell, do I need to play the game myself to find out the answer to what my fair maiden thinks of me?"

"I have no answer to give you as of yet." Miss Elizabeth responded, her face pinking in the most delightful manner. "However, Mr. Darcy, I give you leave to hope."

Then she said in a whisper so low I had to lean in to understand her words, "I still have your token and I have no wish to relinquish it, or ask for mine to be returned." Miss Elizabeth lifted her left gloved hand from her lap, turned it palm side up and with two fingers from her right hand reached under the edge of her glove as if grasping at something and lightly tugged. It took me a moment to understand that the bit of brown I saw was the end of my string. I barely recognized it before she poked it back out of view.

"And I yours likewise." I reached into my pocket and pulled out the edge of her ribbon before concealing it again.

We smiled at our shared secret; her dark eyes were bright, looking at me with an intensity that was both overwhelming and delightful. I broke our gaze first and sat in silence (but for the soft clicking of Mrs. Annesley's knitting needles and our breathing), simply enjoying being with her. I finally broke the silence to add, "I would like them to be bound together."

Miss Elizabeth answered, "I know. I do not mean to frustrate you. My mind is still adjusting to all I have learned. I still have doubts and concerns. Our time is so short, I do not wish to go."

I wondered if she was talking about today or leaving Hunsford. I answered, "I know you need more time to know what will make you happy, but I must ask, may I call with on you with Georgiana after we bring you to your Gardiner relatives in London and when you return home?"

"You may," Miss Elizabeth smiled again, "I confess I am glad that you do not expect to come to the point upon our arrival in London. However, I am not sure the reception you will receive at Longbourn. I am afraid that my past behavior will make it more difficult for you there."

She leaned in toward me a little and added, "I have written to my mother and father to tell them of my growing friendship with Miss Darcy and you. I was very surprised my father wrote me back because he is usually an indifferent correspondent. Besides bemoaning the lack of sense in our house with his most sensible daughters gone, he also seemed curious as to how my opinion of you has undergone such a drastic transformation."

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

Miss Elizabeth gave a little shrug and I tried not to notice how the motion made the top edge of her gown gap a little. "I did write him back, though I did not answer that part of his letter; it seemed to me certain things might best be discussed in person. I suspect Mr. Collins may have written him regarding your supposed intentions, which is why he hastened me home."

"I would gladly clarify all my intentions to Mr. Bennet should I have your permission. I am glad you gave me leave to call. I must confess I had great hope that your permission would extend to Longbourn and I have already secured from Mr. Bingley the option to temporarily rent his home. And now I must confirm it."

"How forward of you, Mr. Darcy. I must confess I am glad you have made such plans." She absently twirled a loose ringlet by her ear and my eyes focused on that movement, the play of light upon the curl as it moved. My hands desired to replace hers, to touch and twirl her hair myself.

"I have a great many plans," I answered, "and they do not end there."

I wondered what was keeping my aunt. Tea could not be forthcoming without her key. It was not that I needed any tea, tea had just been the means to the end of spending time with Miss Elizabeth and we were having a perfectly enjoyable time without it.

I heard my sister and Anne returning. Anne held Miss Elizabeth's basket but now it was filled with roses from the Rosing's rose garden. I wondered what had become of the wildflowers that Miss Elizabeth had picked. Anne stood in front of Miss Elizabeth with the basket but did not hold them out to Miss Elizabeth.

Georgiana prompted softly, "What were you to tell her?"

"You tell her," Anne told my sister.

Georgiana said, "Miss Elizabeth, Miss de Bourgh wanted you to have these roses." Then when Anne did nothing, she prompted, "Go on Anne, give Miss Elizabeth the flowers."

Anne nodded with a bright smile and handed the basket to Miss Elizabeth, who gave her a beautiful smile in return. "How thoughtful of you, Anne."

"Say it." Anne said to Georgiana. She bounced on her slippered feet, eager, waiting.

"Only if you say it with me, Anne." Georgiana replied.

Anne nodded and kept bouncing but her mouth remained closed. Georgiana began to recite, with Anne only joining in at the second half, "The _rose_ is _red_ , the _violet's blue_. The honey's sweet, and so are you."

I almost rolled my eyes at the ridiculous rhyme, but Miss Elizabeth responded very sweetly, saying, "How very kind of you, Miss de Bourgh, roses and a poem. I am glad we are friends." I imagined I heard an unvoiced, "again." I wondered whether Miss Elizabeth was just being kind or whether was she truly enjoying those things. I regretted never gathering flowers for Miss Elizabeth myself.

Lady Catherine strode in, servants right behind her with all the makings for tea. Not waiting to find out what was going on in her absence, she took command of the conversation. "I regret the delay, but I had a staffing matter which needed my attention and tea was not foremost on my mind. There was a dispute between the dairy maid and the cow keeper."

It did not surprise me that she had become involved in that matter. Nothing was beneath my aunt's notice. She then regaled us with all the details of the dispute. Although I did not get to say much more to Miss Elizabeth, at least I was near her and we exchanged some looks over various parts of Lady Catherine's story. While it was not appropriate for Miss Elizabeth to raise and waggle her eyebrows as she did, and I had to work hard to stifle a laugh, I felt a closeness to her. She was treating me as at least a close friend.

My focus was so fixed upon Miss Elizabeth, that I almost missed it when Lady Catherine issued a dinner invitation. I likely would have not even understood it at all, had Miss Elizabeth not answered, "As for myself, I am happy to accept. As for the Collinses and Miss Lucas, I will certainly pass along your invitation and I would be most surprised if they should not be available to dine with you tomorrow."

Miss Elizabeth and I both lingered over our tea even after Lady Catherine had left to speak with her housekeeper and Mrs. Jenkinson had led Anne away. Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley were still present, but they were quiet, and it was almost as if they were not there.

When the tea was drunk and the biscuits all consumed, Miss Elizabeth still seemed reluctant to depart. Though she did eventually go, after saying, "Mrs. Collins is surely missing me by now," the basket of roses over her arm, I found encouragement in her hesitation. I wondered what I could do to woo her as she deserved.

I dearly wanted to walk after Miss Elizabeth, to accompany her back to the parsonage, but I resisted the impulse. I felt almost certain I would have not been able to restrain myself from proposing and I knew from her words that she was not ready for any such thing.

After Miss Elizabeth was well and truly gone, I wandered around Rosings for a little while until my legs led me to the hall which leads to the garden. It was this path which Georgiana and Anne must have taken earlier in the day to visit the rose gardens. Inside Rosings there was no sign of daisy petals and none were on the back steps either (Lady Catherine's staff is quite thorough in promptly cleaning, so I was not surprised, likely they had cleaned the salon as soon as we left it).

However, when I was well and truly outside, the stone path having ended, and had reached the turf just before Lady Catherine's formal gardens, I finally found a trail of daisy petals which began on the grass path. I followed the white petals, spotted a discarded denuded daisy, a little yellow center atop a green stem. Then there was a gap before the trail began again. I counted four daisy stems before they stopped.

Three more steps brought me to a modified trail consisting of other petals and blooms. Apparently, Anne had plucked bare every daisy. There were tiny blue petals, small yellow petals, individual blue bells and then ripped up shards of pink petals.

Just before the first rosebush, I found a heap of discarded flowers wilting in the sun. This, then, was where the wildflowers had found their final resting place (at least until a gardener might rake them under the bushes).

I began to pick through the pile and discarded sadly wilted and bruised flowers. I was not sure what I was looking for, except perhaps I wanted to salvage some of Miss Elizabeth's gathering work. As I sorted, I thought about how her small hands had plucked each stem.

Underneath several blooms, I found the yellow king cups. Just beneath them and to one side, I spotted a little cluster of forget-me-nots which I carefully pulled free. Each had five petals surrounding a small yellow center. I recognized that the small blue petals I had seen earlier had come from other forget-me-nots, and I was glad that these flowers had been spared.

I brought the flowers to my nose but was disappointed to smell almost no scent at all from the humble flowers. I almost discarded them then, was preparing to loosen my grip and let them slip to the ground but some impulse stilled my fingers from unfurling. I tucked the flowers in my pocket instead. When I was back in my room, I pressed them between the pages of the book of poetry I had failed to make much progress getting through.


	40. A Time for Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some sad parts as Darcy recalls losing his mother from cancer.

The following day seemed to tick by slowly as I awaited seeing Miss Elizabeth at Rosings for dinner. Georgiana had hinted that the evening's amusement was a surprise for me and our aunt but it appeared she had given no similar hint to Lady Catherine, for otherwise she would have hounded Georgiana for a complete explanation, thus spoiling the surprise. I wondered what it could be. I imagined the ladies had been preparing new songs for the pianoforte and while a pleasant enough thing to look forward to it hardly merited mention as a surprise. This made me wonder what more it could be. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth and my sister might play an amusing duet or provide some other sort of performance. I hardly thought they would perform a drama.

During the morning when I was in company with the ladies, no discussion could keep my attention. But perhaps that was because all the discussions were boring.

I recall Lady Catherine inquired minutely into the details of the needlepoint that Mrs. Annesley was working on, which was pulled taut within a wooden frame. Mrs. Annesley had been working on the same needlepoint project since we had arrived at Rosings and slowly day by day first leaves and then roses in several shades emerged. My aunt had apparently paid no heed to the task with which Mrs. Annesley was occupied before and asked, "Are you following a pattern, or is it an original design?"

Mrs. Annesley continued to pull her needle through as she answered Lady Catherine's questions, looking up each time as the needle bit through and she pulled the thread, looking down each time she pushed the needle through again. When Mrs. Annesley owned that it was her own design, Lady Catherine asked many more questions and seemed determined to obtain a complete accounting of all the designs Mrs. Annesley had created and their disposition.

Later, Mrs. Jenkinson, Mrs. Annesley, Lady Catherine and Georgiana were discussing other genteel pastimes they enjoyed, while Mrs. Jenkinson continued to work on her needlepoint. Anne did not participate; instead, she sat on the sofa and swung her legs back and forth just above the rug as she flipped through the pages of a book that featured detailed drawings of flowers. If she had any womanly accomplishments, I am sure my aunt would have endlessly praised her. As for me, I sat quietly; there was little I could contribute to such a conversation.

Mrs. Jenkinson said, "I dearly loved knotting and tatting, but I cannot do it anymore." The other ladies made many sympathetic comments regarding her apoplexy and the after-effects.

Lady Catherine contributed, "Feather-work is still my favorite, but it is not so easy to get the feathers anymore. My mother had an aviary with many colorful exotic birds. After she died and I married, my father used to sometimes send me letters which were only papers folded up containing nothing but feathers. I made many pictures out of them, my favorite being of a parrot. However, my brother had no patience for birds. After father died and brother became the Earl, he sold them all."

I paid more attention when Georgiana finally spoke. She commented, "Besides playing music, I am fond of drawing." She glanced over at me, gave a little smile, and then turned back to the other ladies and commented, "Brother has hung up many of my crayon drawings in our gallery, although they certainly do not deserve to be featured there. He also liked the table I painted, but I am working on mastering watercolor painting now. The paint flows so easily that it is not easy to get it to do what I wish."

"You are doing well at painting," Mrs. Annesley responded. "It is not an easy thing to master. Like all skills, it can take years."

"Yes, that may be so," Georgiana responded, "but you make it look so easy."

The ladies continued talking on about other things they had tried or that their friends or relatives liked to do, and I was more aware of the sound of them speaking than the words themselves, until Georgiana contributed once more, "Mother taught me to knit and I was proud of the gloves I knit myself, but I made the mistake to telling a girl at school that they were my own work." She pressed her lips together and I recalled how this incident had been the beginning of her being unhappy at school, although naturally she had not told me anything about it for quite some time.

Lady Catherine responded, "Yes, knitting is not a common accomplishment among your peers. They see how the poor knit socks for the rest of us to buy. Your mother was very talented in that craft but it certainly it was not something that anyone expected the daughter of an Earl to take up. Perhaps our mother would have discouraged her, had she been less occupied with her own duties and many of our father's too."

Lady Catherine looked at first me and then Georgiana before adding, "I believe your mother's maid taught her one dreary winter when there was nothing much to do. However, very quickly your mother surpassed her skill."

My aunt's voice faltered a little when she mentioned, "Anne made me a very pretty blue shawl." She described the scalloped design and from this description I recalled quite vividly seeing my mother work on it, only months before she died. Seeing our interest perhaps, or perhaps simply from a desire to share with us, Lady Catherine sent for her personal maid Dawson to fetch it from her rooms.

Mrs. Jenkinson admired, "What even stitches, what a lacy appearance!"

Mrs. Annesley added, "I knew Mrs. Darcy knit, but I never imagined she was so skilled."

I noticed that the pattern resembled seashells and without thinking about it, reached out to touch it, only recollecting at the last moment that I probably should not do so. Lady Catherine said, "Go ahead and touch it, knitted garments are meant to be touched." I ran my fingers over the stitches, feeling the dip of the knit stitches and the bump of the purled. Soon enough, Georgiana and even Lady Catherine were doing the same.

Georgiana commented, "Nothing I ever knit was so fine."

Lady Catherine responded, "Georgiana, if you like the art of knitting, I see no harm in continuing to master such an accomplishment." She appeared to reflect for a moment before adding, "That is, so long as you do not neglect the pianoforte, sewing, embroidery, painting and learning to speak French."

After a few moments, Lady Catherine moved on from speaking about my mother's knitting, to my mother herself. As she spoke about little recollections, a bird my mother tried to save, the time a butterfly kept alighting on my mother's bonnet, I became lost in my own thoughts.

It did not seem right that my mother's creation was before us as lovely as when it was it was first knotted together on her needles and yet the woman who created it was not, instead her mortal remains were moldering beneath the ground. I could not but recall how she had struggled to complete many knitting projects even as the growth in her belly pained her.

In the course of four months, my lovely mother, who was quick to quip and never chose decorum over laughter, had gone from a vital woman, with an unexplained pain, to one who could not leave her bed and seemed old beyond her years. As Mother sickened and her limbs grew narrower, the cancer continued to grow and swell her middle into something hard that bore a sick resemblance to a woman growing heavy with child.

It was not easy to accept that she would leave us. I recall asking her, "Shall I not send for another doctor? Maybe there is something else that can be done for you."

My mother patted the side of her bed and said, "Sit with me for a while, Fitz." I felt awkward sitting on the side of her bed. She gently placed her hand on mine and gave my hand a little squeeze. "We have been over this so many times, Fitz. They all say the same thing. There is nothing any surgeon or physician can do. All that is left is for the apothecary to ease my pain. Had it been elsewhere, say on the outside of a limb, perhaps they could have tried to cut it off and brand what remained but I well know that there is no cure for me."

Another time she told me, "I do not want to leave you and Georgiana behind, but God and your father are waiting with all of those that have gone before. I know you shall look after each other."

The last items she knitted were two pairs of white booties with an open eyelet around the top edge. She instructed me in a tremulous voice, "This set is for your future child and this one for Georgiana's. Thread through a blue ribbon for a son, and a pink ribbon for a daughter." She took a few moments to rest and breathe before adding, "See that they are saved for them." Her eyes closed then, and I thought she had drifted to sleep. That happened more often as her disease progressed for the laudanum dulled the senses along with the pain.

She blinked and opened her eyes again, reaching out her hand which I grasped. Her hand was so thin then and the skin was papery and soft. "It is a little enough thing to make something for my future grandchildren."

"Perhaps I shall not marry," I confided.

"Nonsense, Fitz," she replied, squeezing my hand a little tighter. "You may not be ready to marry anyone now, but someday you will find a woman that loves you not for what you can give her, but for yourself alone."

The booties my mother knit were not so fine as Aunt Catherine's shawl. The stitches were less even; the design was very simple. Many times, I saw my mother's personal maid knit a few rows with the wool while mother dozed; she was trying to complete the most difficult parts while my mother was unaware. I believe her maid knit the heel section for each bootie. I do not know if my mother knew about that assistance or not.

The booties were my mother's final project. When the booties were complete, she seemed satisfied and began sleeping more and more. Soon after that she ceased eating, telling us, "I am not hungry anymore."

When Georgiana begged, "You must eat," Mother would pretend to sip a little broth from a cup just to indulge her.

The only thing she truly drank was laudanum-laced wine. Her face would wrinkle with disgust at the bitter flavor, but she would force it down. The time soon came that it was not enough.

Georgiana would snuggle up against her while Mother cried; I was less familiar, but often lightly stroked her hair or rubbed her shoulder. While Georgiana continued to pray, "Lord spare Mother and return her to health," I silently prayed, "Lord, please be merciful and take Mother soon to her eternal reward."

Edwin had warned us, "The dying can be cruel to those they know will outlive them and if that should come to pass with your mother, try not to be hurt by it. Sometimes that is just what happens." I imagined he spoke from seeing his men die and perhaps that might occur for some, but we were blessed to never have that experience with our mother.

I think perhaps one's true nature emerges when one prepares to meet the Maker. If destined for Heaven, the dying refines one; if destined for Hell the selfish beast reveals itself. George Wickham would be a beast, no doubt, while awaiting his final punishment.

Though in pain, Mother always tried to smile when she saw us and was never unkind. In her final two days she could no longer speak, and finally could not even blink or squeeze our hands, but we could feel her love for us just the same. Though death was a mercy at the end, I did not want to let her go.

There was a sort of quietness as we knew the end grew near. No one spoke, we simply watched and listened. We heard her breaths slowly space themselves out and then she would struggle to breathe once more. As the spaces grew, we kept wondering which one would be her last, and then when that last one came, we kept listening for another, the minutes ticking by until finally we were certain.

The emotion from my thoughts must have shown on my face as Lady Catherine droned on for Georgiana turned to me and said, "I miss her, too."

"She died far too young," I replied.

I felt rather morose after all I had thought on and retired to my rooms for a time. Although I enjoy being around people, I have a greater need for solitude than most, must be alone for long stretches or else I do not enjoy my time with others. Although I missed my father, my feelings about him were far more complicated than those about my mother. As I idly wrapped Miss Elizabeth's ribbon around and through my fingers, I thought about him.

My mother had taken joy in me even with my defects while my father only seemed to take pleasure in me when I lived up to his expectations. He had a more traditional view of the way a child should be treated compared with my mother. I was to be molded and shaped, to be an extension of him, to take on the role preordained for me based on my birth as the eldest male child.

Any deviation in this role was a personal affront to him. I learned to fear him even as I admired how he was truly the master, and all deferred to him. There were certainly pleasant times, occasions when he was proud of me, but often my reactions to his attempts to show this pride only showed how unworthy I was of it. My instincts about what I should do and how I should be, were inevitably wrong.

I recalled when I was a young boy and I was first sent to the stable to receive instruction in riding. I had been to the stable before and was well familiar with its smells of horse, manure, and leather. Apparently, my riding instructor was missing, and so the footman who had taken me there went to find him, telling me, "Wait right here, Master Darcy, and stay away from the horses; they are not all gentle."

In the few minutes I was left alone, I kept repeating to myself, "Stay away from the horses; stay away from the horses." I had a sort of fear that if I stopped saying it, I might forget to stay away. But as he had not told me to stay away from anything else, I felt there was nothing prohibiting me from touching a tempting long coil of rope that hung on a hook on the wall.

First, I only touched it, running my hand along the thick snake, feeling the texture. The slight, bump, bump, bump felt good against my fingers. Almost without any volition, I found myself liberating the coil from the hook. The mass of the rope was heavy in my arms, pulling down, and when I released it, it made a satisfying thunk and caused dust to explode up into the air that smelled of horse droppings.

I unwound the rope and walked backwards, seeing how far it would reach. Then I rapidly raised and lowered one end to make it undulate down the whole rope, making waves like the sea and causing more dust to erupt. Next, I wrapped it around and around my waist as I spun into it.

I was making a long wavy line with the rope when my father arrived. Perhaps he was bound for his morning ride or perhaps he had come to observe my lesson. I did not hear him enter, so absorbed was I in finally being able to again engage in an activity that I craved.

"Fitzwilliam!" he said in a deep tone. I looked up from where I was crouching on the floor and dropped the end of the rope, causing more dust to fly.

His lips were pursed and there were two lines between his eyebrows. I stood up and only then noticed the dust upon my breeches. I attempted to wipe them clean as he glared at me.

I expected to be punished, had received a switching before. I had not meant to do anything wrong, but there was no mistaking that he was angry.

But he said nothing more as he moved along the wavy rope, observing what I had done. Rather than yelling, father's voice was calm and measured when he asked me, "Do you know how to tie ropes?"

I shook my head "no" while avoiding his eyes.

"A boy cannot play in the way you are. Only idiots do such. But if you want to learn to tie the knots that sailors do, that would be acceptable." Father did not wait for me to respond as he picked up the end of the rope that I had so recently held in my hands. I watched as he began looping the rope into a semblance of the tidy form it had been before, my fingers longing to handle the rope once more. He placed it back on its hook and then came back to me.

He said, "If you do well at your riding lessons, I will find someone to teach you rope tying, but I must never again catch you as I have done today."

I nodded and stood rooted to the spot, even as I longed to walk back toward the wall and the rope. A moment later my riding instructor arrived and apologized to my father about confusion about the time for the lesson. Father said, "Do you best, Fitzwilliam and listen to everything Mr. Fuller says."

Mr. Fuller was a kind man and it was easy to learn from him. It helped that he expected actions rather than words from me. I liked learning to command the horse, the smell of the stable, the horse's warm hide and my shiny boots. I liked being away from Governess Hayes more.

I must have done well enough with my riding as within two weeks a house servant, Smythe, whose uncle was a ship hand, began teaching me to tie knots on Governess Hayes's half day. My hands were awkward, but he was patient. It must have been easier for Smythe to spend time instructing Master Darcy rather than doing his other duties. He did not expect me to speak either, just to imitate his actions.

And best of all, after a lesson Smythe would let me play with the ropes in whichever manner I chose while he lounged on my nursery floor and ate my biscuits. But he must have had firm instructions never to leave the ropes behind as he always counted to make sure he had all of them when he placed them in his satchel.

My father accompanied Smythe one day and seemed pleased when I showed him the knots I could make. "Well done," he told me. "We'll make a gentleman of you yet." The rope tying lessons ended shortly thereafter when my tutor Mr. Stowbaugh replaced Governess Hayes, but my riding lessons continued. My father never caught me using rope improperly again.

I became skilled at riding and this was one skill of which Father could be proud. Later, he was the one to teach me about fox hunting and when I was fifteen, I participated in my first hunt with all the men. I happily rode beside the other men, but in the interval after the hunt when the men recounted to each other their impressions of their successes, I knew not what to say or do.

I knew I looked truly a Darcy even when I was still a young boy. Before she lived with us, on any visit Aunt Matilda often exclaimed to my father that I was just as she remembered him when he was a boy. I must have heard comments like this dozens of times: "Why, when I see young Fitz not long out of his skeleton suit, I half expect I am a girl again and must take care he does not pull my hair or slip a frog down my dress."

It was hard to imagine my father as a boy who might do such things and his scowl seemed to confirm he felt the same. When she ruffled my hair, I shied away; someone who could make my father angry was not to be trusted.

That my physique was of the same mold as my father's was further confirmed the older I grew. I ended up exceeding him in size, probably due to my Fitzwilliam heritage as my mother, aunt and uncle are all rather tall. Georgiana has some of this height as well. But in all other physical attributes, I was a match for him. We had the same deep brown wavy hair, stubborn chin, hazel eyes that were more brown than green though mine were a shade lighter, even the same scowl when angry. Everyone said so.

I do not know if our smiles would match if he let himself smile freely. As with all things he did, his smile was always controlled. Sometimes, though, I had the sense that he was especially pleased even if his smile did not broaden.

We even had the same shape to our hands, wide with thick thumbs while my mother and Georgiana had thinner hands with longer tapered fingers which matched my uncle's. Ours were hands made for physical labor while theirs were more refined.

I wondered if Father would have borne my defect better had I looked more like Mother. He probably thought me an unflattering caricature of himself.

I know Father loved my mother. He had more of a sweetness and softness when around her. He spoke more gently, would never let her carry even so much as her knitting basket or a book when he was near. He did many small things to please her, like obtaining cuttings of apple trees whose fruit she admired to graft onto our own trees and buying her wool spun from the finest merino sheep and angora rabbits.

I saw many small intimacies between them when they thought no one was near: He might trace the side of her face with a finger and brush a lock of hair behind her ear, press a light kiss on the skin of her wrist in the slight gap between her short gloves and sleeve, snake an arm around her back or even kiss her throat. She might ruffle his hair, stroke his lip with her finger, glide her hand along his waistcoat sliding it under his coat, or hold his arm so close that his arm would brush her side.

Once, I even saw them in an amorous embrace in the library when I should have been abed. In the light of the fireplace they stood, the front of their bodies pressed together, heads tilted, lips meeting, her arms around his neck with one tangled in his hair, while his arms were around her back with one lower, stroking her bottom.

I also saw them when they disagreed. My mother was too well mannered to argue in front of the servants or us, but she would be very quiet when upset. She rebuffed his attempts to talk with short answers. She held herself stiffly and ignored any intimacies he attempted.

Many of their disagreements were during the three years that Governess Hayes oversaw me. My father traveled a good deal those years and when home was occupied with riding the estate much more than before or after.

Things improved between them greatly when Governess Hayes was gone, and I was guided by Mr. Stowbaugh instead. Mother smiled more and I even heard Father laugh a time or two.

A few months later Mother belly grew, and she told me, "Fitz, soon you shall have a baby brother or sister."

I remember some months later her encouraging me to place a hand upon her swollen belly and when I did so, I immediately drew back when a felt a sudden movement. She said, "That was just your brother or sister greeting you."

Mother was so very happy while she was waiting for the baby. Her fingers were rarely idle, and she spend many hours knitting baby blankets, booties, and caps while her maid sewed baby gowns beside her.

On the day she travailed, I was kept busy by Mr. Stowbaugh. Later, I learned my little brother had never taken a breath and would join my Darcy grandparents in the ground. When I could see my mother, she tried to smile at me, but her smile was not right.

Mother stayed in her rooms for a time and then when she returned to her activities her steps were heavy as if it were too hard to move about. I remember seeing her cry when she spied a half-finished navy cap in her knitting basket. She called me over, "Fitz, do you see my wool?" I nodded. "Pull out the needles and unravel it."

I had unraveled things for her before, but usually only to a fixed spot, undoing a mistake. When that had occurred, I always wanted to unravel more. But on this day, a task that I would normally relish, brought me no pleasure. As I pulled her navy stitches free, I realized that everything that could be built could faster be destroyed.

Mother did not have me tear apart her finished items. Instead she gave the whole bundle to Mrs. Reynolds. She told her, "I cannot bear to keep these, but it would be selfish to discard them. What am I to do?"

Mrs. Reynolds said, "Perhaps we should just store them; you will have another child someday."

"No," my mother shook her head, her face bland. "I did not make these garments for just any baby, but for the one that was lost."

"If you do not mind a suggestion, perhaps you might gift them to the tenants with young babies. They are so very fine I am sure they would be proud to use them. Perhaps they might be christening gifts."

My mother considered, "Fine. Please gift away two or three items at a time to whoever has young babies and if there are any left, save them for the babies who are to come and gift them at their christenings."

Mrs. Reynolds dutifully did as she was asked. There were so many items that for at least a year, each newly christened baby received a gift from the Mistress of Pemberley. That year and the ones that followed many babies were beautifully arrayed with her finery as the items were passed along. Even now, occasionally I still see examples of her knitting on the newest generation of Pemberley tenants' babies, a blue cap here, yellow booties there.

When Mother was expecting Georgiana, she knitted far fewer items. She was far more cautious in her expectations, but there was not a babe more loved when she arrived than my sister.


	41. Progress and Proficiency

After much time spent in thought, I determined I should be productive as dinner was still an hour hence. I looked down at the ribbon still grasped in my hand and determined that I must put it away. The end which had caught on the thorn was frayed and it was a little less shiny for having been handled so much, but it was still very smooth, so much softer than my hands. I carefully coiled it up, brought the ribbon to my lips and lightly kissed it before placing it safely in a drawer underneath my handkerchief. It would wait there secure until after I was dressed for dinner.

I alighted to my desk and set about attending to my work: responding to correspondence from my steward, writing to Bingley to thank him for the temporary sublease and then making a list of possible ways to make my wooing of Miss Elizabeth more romantic. I had not yet come to any conclusions on how best to go about it when Jeffrey arrived to help me dress.

After Jeffrey was dismissed and I had transferred the ribbon to my new pocket coat, I made my way to the drawing room. Shortly thereafter our guests arrived. Miss Elizabeth resplendent in her yellow gown with short sleeves and long gloves. I thought, perhaps, she had worn it specifically for me.

I enjoyed escorting Miss Elizabeth to dinner, seating her to my right and making sure her plate was filled with the best my aunt had to offer. I made a sincere effort to make pleasant conversation but was distracted by her nearness. Under the concealment of the tablecloth, I pondered whether I might try to hold her hand.

I glanced down and noticed that Miss Elizabeth left hand, freed from her gloves for dining was perched invitingly close to me at the edge of her lap on the cloth napkin. I knew I should not hold her hand when neither of us were wearing gloves, but the opportunity to feel her skin against mine was a delightful temptation.

Suddenly my throat felt dry, and my palms damp so I lifted my hand to grasp my wine glass and take a sip before returning my right hand to my own lap. A space of only about six inches separated our hands.

Miss Elizabeth seemed to notice where I had glanced. She nodded slightly as her bright eyes met mine, looked down at her own lap and moved her hand closer to me by an inch or two, and then glanced up at me again. She seemed to know my thoughts and to be encouraging me. Of course, I also feared that I had misunderstood what her actions meant. I wiped my palm against my breeches, swallowed thickly and then before I could change my mind, grasped her hand in mine.

It was smooth, slightly cool and dwarfed by mine. I rubbed my thumb lightly over her knuckles and then glanced in her direction to see her reaction. She smiled at me.

I did my best to keep my face neutral as I looked toward Lady Catherine who was speaking. My aunt's words at that moment were as incomprehensible to me as the buzzing of a bee; my whole being was instead focused entirely on my hand holding hers and Miss Elizabeth's presence beside me.

Miss Elizabeth laid her right hand atop where my own right hand was clasping her left one and pressed my large hand between her small ones. I felt a wave of happiness wash over me and wished I could stay in this moment all night long. But the moment had to be brief as we were still eating, and there was still a large portion of food upon my plate.

I released her hand and slipped my hand free. I quickly ate some bites, chewing and swallowing without hardly tasting anything, save for a bite of fish which was not as fresh as what Lady Catherine typically served. I was careful to keep my lips closed.

When I laid my right hand down on my lap once more, this time it was Miss Elizabeth who grasped my hand! In this manner we passed dinner, a few moments with our hands together, several moments apart and then repeat.

I was sorry when the dinner concluded, and we had the separation of the sexes. After using the necessary, it was a tedious time with only me and Mr. Collins. I hoped us simply having a snifter of brandy would be sufficient, but Mr. Collins decided to smoke a cigar. He barely inhaled the smoke, preferring to wave it around as he commented on how generous Lady Catherine was.

The time with Mr. Collins went faster when I asked him how he had enjoyed hosting his guests. Every mention of Miss Elizabeth was dear to me.

When we rejoined the ladies once again, my aunt was calling for cards when my sister intervened. "Lady Catherine," she cried out, "we have prepared a special entertainment."

I was surprised when Georgiana, Miss Elizabeth and Anne arose (Anne taking the longest and requiring the other two's cajoling). I was further surprised when Anne was the one to seat herself at the pianoforte while the others looked on. Anne proceeded to play a simple children's song that only required the use of her right hand, but as she had never played before we were all astonished. Not one wrong note did she play. When the song was over, we were silent and awed, but before we could begin to praise her, she began to play a more difficult song. After the opening notes Miss Elizabeth and Georgiana sang along.

I saw my aunt stand up and move closer to the pianoforte. Her eyes looked wet and wide. As the last notes faded away and Anne arose, she was suddenly enveloped in her mother's embrace. "Oh, my dear Anne, how wonderful you were!"

"It was easy," Anne replied, "I am proficient, proficient." I recalled how my aunt often said that Anne would be a true proficient if only her health had allowed her to learn the pianoforte or any other accomplishment that ladies were expected to know. "Mama, you were right."

Lady Catherine began asking her daughter question after question that Anne did not answer. I could tell Anne was feeling uncomfortable because she stopped looking at her mother.

I thought to intervene and salvage the evening, but Georgiana was quicker than I. She told our aunt, "Madam, Anne had just had her first performance and if you wish to hear another on another occasion, you must let Anne have some quiet to enjoy her success."

"Miss Darcy and I can tell you all about how this occurred," Miss Elizabeth volunteered and soon Lady Catherine was asking them questions instead of Anne, who had retreated to sit beside Mrs. Jenkinson.

I took a moment to watch what Mrs. Jenkinson would do with Anne, even as I longed to look at Miss Elizabeth in her yellow gown. Mrs. Jenkinson covered Anne with her navy boiled wool blanket and let Anne nestle herself in the hollow of Mrs. Jenkinson's neck. Mrs. Jenkinson gently rubbed Anne's face and head, eyebrows to crown then lifting her hand to before doing it again. Anne's face relaxed, but her eyes did not close.

Reassured, I allowed my gaze to alight on Miss Elizabeth, my sister and my aunt. From listening to my sister and my hopefully soon-to-be intended, I learned that Georgiana had asked Anne if she wanted to learn to play, showing her a simple scale. Anne took the bench and proceeded to play part of the melody from a song Georgiana had been practicing, picking out the notes one by one with the same single finger. Miss Elizabeth explained that Anne had a good ear and was willing to use all of her fingers when they suggested it and had shown her how much easier it was to reach the next note, but Anne had no interest in learning how to read notes.

Anne sat up and then contributed, "I hear the music and can play; I just do."

Lady Catherine looked over at Anne and said, "Yes you do, and very well, too." Anne beckoned her mother over and soon enough Lady Catherine was sitting on Anne's other side and gently praising her while Mr. and Mrs. Collins were trying to congratulate my sister and Miss Elizabeth for how much they had taught Anne.

Miss Elizabeth told them, "We do not deserve such approbation" and Georgiana added, "Anne has a natural affinity for the instrument but had never before touched its keys. Our aunt told her not to touch them when she was little and for some reason, she believed that rule still applied." I liked seeing how well they worked together in explaining the matter, but also wished myself to be included in their camaraderie.

After a few minutes Georgiana announced, "Our entertainment is not yet at an end." She proceeded to play a difficult sonata with a pleasing lightness, but I confess I listened more than saw her play because I was occupied with observing Miss Elizabeth, who was two seats to my right.

When Georgiana's piece was concluded, I heard Anne say to my aunt, "Should I learn that one next?" but I did not hear Lady Catherine's reply.

Next, Miss Elizabeth sat down at the instrument and I arose to get a better view. My sister gestured for me to come closer as Miss Elizabeth began to play the opening notes to a song I recognized immediately. "You must sing with us," Georgiana told me.

Normally I would have refused as I know my singing voice is very ordinary, more suited to singing hymns with a whole congregation than being displayed as part of an evening's entertainment. However, I recalled the enjoyment of singing with Miss Elizabeth on a previous evening and welcomed the opportunity to join in with them, to be part of a team, especially when it was obvious to me that my sister had Miss Elizabeth performing the song especially for me.

The three of us sang, "Good morning, Pretty Maid" together. As I sang it, I felt a presence behind me. I felt as if my mother were there with me, approving of me, my sister and the woman I had chosen. I felt a sense of belonging as we all sang together. I desired to walk beside my beloved forevermore, the farmer's son with the pretty maid.

The evening ended all too quickly, but my contentment was such that when I went to bed, I easily fell asleep. During the night I awoke to the clap of thunder and the sound of rain pouring down. I knew what that likely meant but managed to get myself to sleep again. When Wednesday dawned it was almost impossible to tell as dark clouds blocked the sun and the falling rain made a steady roar, banishing all my hope that I might yet see Miss Elizabeth that day. If only the rain had come while they were at dinner with us or during the evening's entertainment and we might yet be under the same roof!

In the morning, I stared out of a window much of the day observing the storm and hoping to see it cease. It did not.

Georgiana provided a welcome distraction from the weather when she told me about two incidents the previous week when she had feared that Anne might damage the pianoforte in order to seek my advice. She had not shared these occurrences with me before because she had wanted to keep the fact of Anne practicing a surprise. She told me, "On the first occasion, Anne banged the keys very hard with a book; it was most fortunate that she did not chip the keys. Another time, she upended the pianoforte bench."

I asked, "Did you know she was about to get upset? Was there a cause for her behavior?"

Georgiana responded, "Once Anne became upset because the piece she was trying to learn was too hard and the other time it was because I tried one too many times to try to get her to learn to read music. I well understand now why our aunt previously told her not to touch the pianoforte."

I advised, "I know that you have been trying to have Anne explain her upset with words, but you should also pay attentions to the signs she makes before she loses control and see if you can get her to take a break and do something else before the situation worsens. I should like to see how you are doing with her during a practice. Do you suppose you could practice at the pianoforte in the drawing room so I may observe?"

Georgiana conceded it was a good idea to have me present, but worried, "Because it is a superior instrument to that in Mrs. Jenkinson's room, it would be even worse if that instrument is damaged. Still, now that there is no longer a surprise to be concealed, I suppose we may try practicing there."

I dearly hoped that this practice there might go well so that if Elizabeth could come on Friday, I might be present for the entire practice. I tried not to think about the fact that this would be her final practice at Rosings and our final tea there.

Georgiana added, "A further problem I fear may be Lady Catherine. I know she loves Anne dearly, but sometimes I think she makes things worse."

I tried to reassure her, "I shall do my best to stop Lady Catherine if that happens."

I did my best to attend to what was occurring during the practice, though the continuing rain and the promised absence of Miss Elizabeth was utmost on my thoughts. Although Lady Catherine was present and praising all Anne did, Anne seemed more pleased than upset by this attention. As my aunt droned on, Mrs. Jenkinson was the only one obviously attending to her words.

The practice was unlike any I had observed before. Georgiana played a portion of a piece while Anne watched and then Anne played that same portion of the piece. Her mimicked performance was not perfect, but very good indeed. It was clear to me that she was memorizing the order of the sounds, more so than how they corresponded with the finger movements she observed, and she knew which notes on the piano would make those sounds.

Anne's main difficulty appeared to be getting her fingers to move in the same way as Georgiana's. She primarily seemed to want to use her thumbs and first two fingers on each hand, rather than all her fingers. Here Georgiana might show her how she dipped her thumb below her other fingers to catch a note, then freeing her hand to stretch farther for the next run of notes extending to the octave above, or gently suggest that she try hitting the last note up the octave with her smallest finger.

After a while Anne became frustrated with her hands, getting up and yelling, "Fingers will not do what they should!"

I saw my aunt rise to intervene, so I raised my hand in the gesture to stop and whispered, "Wait and see what Georgiana does." My aunt remained standing but was silent.

Anne continued to yell and then started to hit the padded piano bench and not, I was pleased to see, the pianoforte. Georgiana waited until her banging lessened and then gently intervened in the way I expected.

"I am so pleased you are not hitting the pianoforte Anne. That is very good. Would you like to take a walk to the gallery to see the paintings?"

After a couple more vigorous bangs Anne straightened herself, still complaining about her fingers, and the two of them walked out of the drawing room.

As soon as they were gone my aunt demanded an explanation from me, "Fitzwilliam, how did she calm Anne so easily?"

"This has been the work of many days," I explained. "Even before Anne's outburst with Miss Elizabeth, Georgiana and I were determined to help Anne learn to control her anger as I have done. Anne does not enjoy raging, but she had no other reaction when she lost control. Georgiana has been seeking to help her figure out how to regain control."

I could tell I had my aunt's full attention as I explained, because her eyes were fixed on me. "One way is to have Anne express why she is angry sooner and direct her rage to something less easily damaged and then when she achieves a modicum of self control to take a break and leave the site of her anger. She was less angry today and expressed her frustration sooner before it could build uncontrollably. I dare say this may not work if she more suddenly becomes upset."

We talked further and I discussed with her and Mrs. Jenkinson how they could do likewise and the importance of them remaining calm as their own emotions could fuel her rage. I explained it was helpful to praise any success Anne achieved in controlling herself rather than expressing how she failed to be like other people.

Mrs. Jenkins nodded thoughtfully as I spoke. I believe she had previously learned the same from Georgiana as she is almost constantly at Anne's side.

My aunt had many more questions for me but when she finally had no more, she thanked me. "Fitzwilliam, you and Georgiana have done so much for Anne in your limited time here. How did you know what to do and who helped you?" Not waiting for me to respond, she continued, "I am entirely satisfied in the arrangements we have made for Anne's future. I have so much hope from the brightness you have brought to Anne's life. I only wonder how we can do likewise when you depart."

I was gratified that she immediately understood the importance of her own and Mrs. Jenkinson's role going forward, and that she was eager to learn rather than control what was to be done. I told her, "While we have been here, Georgiana began writing in a journal about what she has tried with Anne, how Anne has responded and what works well, works somewhat, or is counterproductive."

Lady Catherine immediately requested, "Mrs. Jenkinson, could you transcribe two copies in blank journals so that we may each learn what Georgiana tried?"

When Mrs. Jenkinson noted that she no longer wrote well, Lady Catherine delegated the duty to her secretary, Miles, and told Mrs. Jenkinson, "You and I will have to add our own observations going forward; you may dictate your own to Miles."

When Georgiana returned without Anne, Lady Catherine immediately demanded, "Where is Anne?"

I was proud to see that Georgiana held her head high and simply explained, "Madam, Anne decided to return to her chambers to rest. Her strong emotions tire her out."

Georgiana was most willing to have her journal copied and it was quickly entrusted to Miles. While that was taking place, my aunt, Mrs. Jenkinson, Georgiana and I began talking about how best to help Anne. I was pleased to see that my aunt was listening more than talking and that Georgiana was taking the lead in the discussion, sometimes even sharing her opinions about how she had been helpful to me. Although I was certain this was a good approach, I felt how a bug might feel under a magnifying glass, if it could know that someone was looking down on it and observing it.

Anne had the right of it I decided, as I stifled a yawn and excused myself to return to my own rooms. I thought I might nap, but the walk to my room roused me a bit and there was certainly plenty to occupy my mind.

It occurred to me that our progress with Anne would also help my progress with wooing Miss Elizabeth, easing an obstacle which had disquieted her. I only regretted that I had not sooner taken more of an interest in Anne, but in this matter Lady Catherine was largely to blame. If she had not constantly tried to force our engagement, I would have brought Georgiana more often and had further involvement with Anne myself as her cousin and not unwilling possible fiancé.

The rest of the day was uneventful except that Anne participated a bit more in the conversation at dinner as our aunt further discussed her pleasure at Anne's pianoforte performance and how well she had managed her frustration. By the time I went to bed while the rain had not yet ceased it had finally tapered to a gentler patter against the window panes.


	42. Finally!

Thursday dawned bright and the sun did its best to dry the land, but thick mud still abounded. It was much worse than when Miss Elizabeth walked to Netherfield to visit her ill sister.

I could not help but daydream about Miss Elizabeth walking to see us as she had her sister, although I knew she would not walk over in conditions such as these. Still, I imagined watching her walk along any of the number of paths from the Hunsford parsonage in the map that was imprinted in my mind and visualized her arriving with an even deeper blush upon her face from such a laborious walk fighting against the sticky mud. I imagined how wondrous it would be to see her lovely dark eyes, brightened by the exercise, directed at me!

In my fantasy I would embrace her and lean down to kiss her pink lips, pausing before our lips touched to tell her, "My love, how I have missed you. Please tell me that we shall never be parted again." But there is where my fancy stopped, for when I tried to think of how she would reply, rather than seeing her smile and accept and then purse her lips to kiss mine, I saw a scowl and heard her exclaim, "You are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry!"

On Tuesday night, with our growing closeness and anticipating three days with her still before our departure, I had felt some hope she might permit my addresses before we left for London, but with our continued separation it was all but impossible. Now there were but two days left, and I doubted whether the roads would be fit until after Saturday. I steeled myself to wait until she was home with her family in Longbourn as had been my previous plan.

Thursday afternoon, I ventured out of the house, hoping to carefully pick my way over to the stables to visit my mount, but the conditions were such that I feared my boots would be sucked off my feet. I had entertained vague hopes that perhaps I could ride my horse to the parsonage and declare all (not that I would truly do so, if riding were possible), but it was evident that even if I could gain the stable, it would be foolhardy to risk my mount or myself. Even a slow walk was too risky in such slippery conditions.

After I had wasted a good portion of the day in idle reflection, bemoaning what was currently impossible, I resolved to be more productive with the time I had. Yesterday, while answering my aunt's questions regarding how to help Anne control her own temper, it occurred to me that my perspective could be of further assistance to my aunt and cousin. Therefore, I began writing a letter to Lady Catherine summarizing some of what I had learned about my own nature and what had been helpful to me, although naturally with the caveat that it would not necessarily be the same for Anne. I write rather slowly, pausing to consider the best way to express myself, but when I was finished with my letter it covered the front and backs of five pages.

I also wrote a shorter, more carefully worded letter to Anne. I told her:

_You and I are different from most people. We do not think as other people do. Your mother has tried very hard to keep you safe. She keeps you home both because of your weak heart and because she wants no one to think less of you._

_You are intelligent. You are good at learning new things that interest you. Other people have things to teach you. The more that you can do for yourself, the more choices you will have. You cannot always do things your own way._

_You are quickly learning to play the pianoforte. That is a good thing. You learn by listening and remembering which sounds go in order. You mind knows the music, but your fingers still need to learn how best to play it. It will take time for your fingers to catch up to the music in your head._

_Sheet music is a way to learn music. If you can learn to read it, you can learn to play music that you have not heard before. You will not have to wait for someone to teach you, for you will be able to teach yourself and choose exactly what you wish to play._

_Everyone becomes angry sometimes, but adults must control their behavior if they wish to be treated as adults. When you rage, it scares other people. I had to learn how to control myself and you can do the same. When I am angry, sometimes I feel better when I throw and break things outside; perhaps you can find something similar that will work for you._

_Sometimes you may not understand how angry or upset you are becoming. Georgiana and I are trying to help your mother and Mrs. Jenkinson recognize the signs when you are becoming angry so they can help you. Try to listen to them and let them help soothe you. When you are frustrated, try to take a break._

_If you can behave well in public, your mother and Mrs. Jenkinson can take you to see more things that you would like. You may see many homes and sites related to royalty. But you must tell them if you are getting angry or tired. They will try to help you._

_If you would like, you may visit Georgiana and me in London and at Pemberley. London can be reached in a day, but Pemberley is a three-day journey and you would need to stay at two inns along the way and stop at others for food._

_When we leave Rosings, we will write to you and we hope that you will write to us, too. We will also try to come visit you more often. We are your family and we will always be here to help you._

Friday the conditions were much improved, but there was still doubt in my mind whether the roads would be fit enough for us to travel to London the following day. If we could not leave on Saturday, we would not be able to travel until Monday as the pious did not travel on the Lord's day.

Later in the morning, unable to resist any longer, I walked to the stables gingerly, trying to only trod upon the drier ground, but frequently my boots were half covered with muck and made a spoosh-sloosh sound as I pulled them free to step forward. I saddled my horse myself and set out for the parsonage to visit Miss Elizabeth.

Although I longed to hurry to her side, I kept my mount to a gentle walk. We went so slowly that on a fair day, it would have been faster for me to walk on my own feet.

My poor horse ended up with muddy shins and some droplets were flung by his hooves as high as my own thighs, but I cared not. I expected all would be at home and I would only see Miss Elizabeth perhaps across the room unable to exchange more than a word or two due to Mr. Collins' volubility. Yet however limited our interaction would be, I would see Miss Elizabeth.

When I reached the parsonage, I gingerly slipped off my horse's back, but still slipped and almost fell on my posterior, catching myself with a gloved hand. It now appeared that my left glove was made of mud. Judging that it would be better to do without gloves under the circumstances, I slipped them off and laid them across his saddle, little caring whether they stayed. I tied my horse up to a post, but it hardly seemed necessary as my mount showed no interest in picking up his feet. He gave a snort, threw his head, but stood still.

Before I could knock, the door opened, and Mrs. Collins met me. I do not know if it was due to Mrs. Collins's concern that I would leave her house filthy with mud or out of true compassion, but rather than letting me enter Mrs. Collins whispered, "Good day, Mr. Darcy," and stood half blocking my way.

I was not sure why she was speaking so quietly, but in response, I half inclined my head.

Mrs. Collins then pivoted, half turning her back on me and guided Miss Elizabeth forward around her toward the gap in the door. Mrs. Collins murmured quietly from over Miss Elizabeth's shoulder, "Eliza is in desperate need of a walk. Could you please oblige her?"

I could not help but grin as I nodded. Mrs. Collins drew a dark shawl from around her own shoulders and flung it upon her friend who stepped out of the doorway. Then Mrs. Collins slowly closed the door, which made only a slight squeak.

I noticed that other than the hastily added shawl, Miss Elizabeth was not attired for a walk. She had neither gloves upon her hands nor a bonnet upon her head. Miss Elizabeth settled the shawl, which I could now tell was a dark brown, more securely over her pink dress and then grasped my arm.

She suggested, "I suppose the best thing to do would be to circle the house on its higher land. While I would dearly enjoy ranging further afield, I fear it would not be wise given the conditions."

From this statement, I gathered (correctly as it turned out) that she would prefer to be alone with me out of sight, but it was not to be. I was more than content, though, simply to be in her presence however it could be managed. At least out of doors, I did not have to deal with Mr. Collins and our words were private.

I wondered if Mrs. Collins had perhaps rushed to open the door before I could knock and spoke so quietly so that Mr. Collins was not alerted to my presence. I knew from past experience that he was usually in the front parlor watching the drive, but likely he believed the weather too poor to allow for anyone to go past.

Although we were alone, I knew I had to behave with utmost propriety as we were likely being viewed from the parsonage windows. I gently turned so that Miss Elizabeth was the one situated closer to the building, on the higher ground, to provide her with a better chance of not damaging her shoes.

We walked in silence. I was struggling trying to think of what to say to her. It was not that I had nothing to say, more that I did not want to presume that she would be willing to hear my addresses.

When we reached the back of the house and I would have taken her between the house and the chicken coop, she tugged me lightly to range lower, to circle behind the coop which was also on a portion of raised land.

With the hen house's protected roof and the angle, we were partially sheltered from view. There Miss Elizabeth halted, so I did likewise. She released my arm and turned toward me.

The chickens were squawking and clucking behind her, and I was almost certain the smelly mud beneath our feet was mostly chicken droppings, but we both ignored those things in favor of looking at one another.

Miss Elizabeth tugged the brown shawl higher around her shoulders, so it draped further down her front, framing the garnet cross she usually wore. Then, apparently realizing her hair was falling out of her bun (oh how delightful it was to see a few of those corkscrew curls come loose, they hung well below her shoulders but I imagined they would extend far longer if pulled down) and she quickly re-twisted it and secured it once more.

While I saw these actions, I paid them little mind as they did not concern me, at least not then. My eyes were more pleasantly engaged in examining the expression on Miss Elizabeth's face. It was not one that I recognized; it was certainly not a look that she had ever given to me before, but I also did not remember seeing that look addressed to anyone else.

While I was trying to make sense of her look, as her dark eyes met mine, she said, "Oh, how I have missed you!" Her voice was both the same and different than before.

Miss Elizabeth stepped closer to me, reaching out her right hand and grasped my left forearm around my sleeve. As she was on the higher ground, the less wet ground, the top of her head was perhaps even with my eyes.

While my mind was still trying to sort out what she might be thinking, my body knew just what to do. I leaned toward her and my knees bent a little. Her other hand came to rest on my arm and then my hands, first one and then the other moved forward of their own accord to lightly grasp the sides of her waist. At the same time, both of her hands were sliding up my arms. We continued to pull closer and my hands slid around to her back as her hands reached my shoulders.

Our arms encircled each other, and I could feel the fringes of her shawl brushing against my hands and I heard her skirt crinkling as it fluttered against my legs. There was still some space between us, but we were far closer to one another than we had ever been before. My head dipped lower, tilted slightly, and placed a small kiss upon her lips. They were soft and warm.

I drew back a few inches and released my grip on her back, suddenly aware of what I had done. I feared a slap or a disgusted look. Instead, her arms tightened around my neck and she leaned into me so I could kiss her once more. My hands which had dropped to my sides, rose to embrace her once more. I must have placed dozens of small kisses on Miss Elizabeth's lips when she gave a small sigh, her lips parted, and we shared a deeper kiss in which I tasted her mouth and felt desire rise within me.

My honor fully engaged, I pulled back slightly, my arms still around her and told her, "I love you." Then I asked, "Will you be my wife?"

As I asked my question, I could feel my heart beating wildly in my chest as if I had just run a foot race but did not yet know whether I had won or lost. Although I had not meant to hold or kiss Miss Elizabeth just then or to then propose, I could regret none of my actions as I still clasped her close and she still held me.

As I waited for her answer, my body was awash with sensations and my senses were fully engaged. While normally feeling these things at once would have been overwhelming, it simply enhanced everything I was feeling. My hands were delighting in being allowed to glide over her back: I felt bare skin just below her neck as my left hand delved deeper under her shawl, and with my other hand I felt the satiny fabric of her dress with lumpy buttons all in a row down the middle.

Miss Elizabeth gazed at me and I gazed at her. I tried to memorize the way she looked just then, cheeks rosy, lips slightly parted with a hint of a smile. Her expression reminded me of Georgiana when she had finally mastered a difficult pianoforte piece and successfully played it all the way through. She looked happy, I decided, yet she was still silent.

It must have only been a few moments, though it felt like longer and I began to worry. Why it was taking her so long to respond? Had I been too forward? Had I read the situation wrong? But no, her arms held me still.

Then as if it had taken her a little while to hear what I had said, her smile deepened, rounding her cheeks, and she said, "Yes."

One little word made of three little letters, yet it was the most important word I had ever heard. I saw my vision become blurry as my eyes became thick with tears. I was so very happy, thankful, exhilarated and feeling things I did not have words for, but they were all wonderful.

Before I knew it, we were kissing again, but this was a deeper kiss filled with the promise of a fulfillment that would only come upon our marriage. Almost all of me was just enjoying that moment, yet a very small part of me was saying, "See Fitzwilliam, you are worthy. She has chosen you." And a different small part of me was saying, "If she knew all your inner ugliness, she would make a different choice." And a third small part of me was saying, "Why did you ever worry about her touch when this is so very good?" And a fourth small part was saying, "Restrain yourself, know the limits of the here and now."

I listened to that last voice and slowly pulled back, still kissing her but more softly now until I was back to small tender kisses. Finally, I gave her one last kiss on her forehead and then pulled her more fully into my arms. She felt just right with her head tucked against my chest.

I held Miss Elizabeth for several more moments, her head nestled against the hanging part of my cravat, my arms around her still. Despite the smell of the mud mixed with poultry waste, I was loath to leave the spot where all my dearest wishes had come true. However, I knew that likely Mrs. Collins would be wondering where we were.

"My love," I said as I loosened my grip on her, "I think we ought to continue our walk before Mrs. Collins sends someone out to search, thinking you are a victim of the mud."

Miss Elizabeth must have agreed as she raised her head to look at me, then properly grasped my arm. I would have felt bereft now that my arms were empty if not for the promise contained in her "yes."

"I supposed we must," she replied. We slowly walked on, me trying to be careful to keep her on the driest land available although my eyes were more on her than on where we were walking.

"I missed you so these last two days," Miss Elizabeth confessed softly, "Yet I did not know until I spied you from the window, covered in mud yet coming to see me, how strong your love was and that I returned it."

I paused then, turned toward her, and asked, "You do?" I had hoped that her acceptance of my kisses and of my hand meant that she love me as well. I did not think she would not be the sort to accept a marriage proposal without having true feelings for her future spouse, but she might have just been fond of me.

"Yes," she said, squeezing my arm as she said the word before she loosened her grip. Again, I felt that "yes" was truly the most wonderful of words. The onslaught of emotions that descended on me then was difficult for me to bear, it was as if I was feeling too much, much more than I had felt before except when I had been very upset at what Governess Hayes had done to me or when my parents died. But unlike those experiences, this time these were good feelings.

Miss Elizabeth looked ahead for a moment as she commented, "I know there are still things to be worked out, adjustments that I must make. . . ." then she turned to look at me once again, "but I will be with you, Mr. Darcy, wherever you shall lead me." In her words I felt a devotion that recalled to me the Biblical story of Ruth in which Ruth chose to leave her country and people behind to cleave to her mother-in-law Naomi. It seemed to me there was a parallel there as when we married, I would be taking her far away from everything she had known before.

If we had not yet been walking in sight of the parsonage windows nothing would have kept me from embracing her and kissing her once more. But as we were, I had to settle for my words. "I hoped to earn your love," I told her, "yet so many times I despaired that I never would. It is a precious thing to have a love returned. My affections and wishes are unchanged since before I told you of them, except in how my feelings have deepened and grown the longer I have known you. I will do all that is in my power to make sure you never regret your choice."

Miss Elizabeth squeezed my arm again and confessed, "I am sorry I was so unfeeling to judge you without knowing any of the particulars about how you truly were, to allow my prejudices to turn me against you. I wish you could forget all those things and think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."

I heard and felt my boot sink low in mud, but paid it no heed as I replied, "I would suffer all those trials and more, knowing they would bring us to this point."

We walked on in contented silence that I had no wish to disturb, yet our time grew short and I began to feel anxious knowing that soon we would have to part. "Should we announce our understanding?" I asked.

"I think it ought not to be attempted," Miss Elizabeth responded. "While my happiness is such that I would wish for all to know, I fear that if Mr. Collins knew he would be writing my father to offer his congratulations even before you obtained his consent. I do not think it will be difficult to get my father to agree, though I must talk with him first and acquaint him with all that I have learned about you and how it differs from the accounts in circulation."

"Will Mr. Bennet approve of me, if he knows of my difficulties?" I wondered aloud.

"Do not fear," she responded, leaning into me, so that her shoulder was against my arm. "I am certain that he will. He is a man of keen understanding and will respect my choice as he did when I chose to reject Mr. Collins."

I resolved to try not to worry about that now and directed my mind to think on more immediate concerns. "If we cannot make an announcement, can we at least share with a selected few and swear them to secrecy? I expect you should like to tell Mrs. Collins and as for me, I would wish to tell my sister."

She nodded, "I believe they may be trusted. I should like to tell my sister also when we reach London, although it might pain her while she is still struggling with her own disappointment. I certainly would like to share all that has occurred with Uncle and Aunt Gardiner. Indeed, they must know, as you plan to see me while I am in their care."

In thinking of those that were in London, I commented, "I should like to tell Bingley, but as for the Colonel, I do not plan to tell him until there is a formal announcement. As for our travel plans, I am not certain that the roads will be safe enough for the carriages to travel to London tomorrow."

In my mind were images of stuck and overturned carriages. However, a delay in leaving would mean that we could not travel until Monday. Few wished to risk the Lord's wrath or the disapprobation of society by traveling on His day. "The mud was worse than I expected riding over from Rosings and I should not like to risk your safety, or that of Georgiana or Miss Lucas, or even that of our servants."

"If we do not arrive on the morrow," said she, "I am certain my Gardiner relatives will understand why. However, I am impatient to depart so that I may return home, and all may be formalized between us."

"Then we are agreed that we should not attempt the journey unless conditions are much improved. I shall call on you tomorrow to finalize our arrangements. Please do not risk your health by coming to see us at Rosings." As I said those words, I realized I finally had the right to protect her.

"I will stay here," she agreed, "but it will be difficult not to see you before then."

We paused for a moment; I believe neither of us wished to reach the parsonage. "I must depart soon," I told her regretfully. "My poor horse must be tended to. Lady Catherine's stable hands shall earn their wages today, clearing him of mud."

I glanced down at myself and saw that my appearance was not much better than that of my beast. My boots were so thoroughly covered in mud that it was unclear what color they were, my stockings were muddy as well, and even my breeches and coat bore droplets of mud. Noticing my appearance, I began to laugh.

Miss Elizabeth smirked and said, "Pray tell, Mr. Darcy, what is so amusing?"

If it had been someone else, or even her of a few weeks before, I would have forced a blank expression on my face (and likely never would have laughed in the first place). Now there was no reason not to tell her my thoughts and she wanted to know them.

"I have just been thinking that it seems that on every occasion when I have been most desperate to see you, that I am never at my best. Do you not recall me calling on you at the parsonage after having run after you and Edwin a foot? I was wet with sweat and disheveled, unkempt, yet you rewarded me with your ribbon. And now, fool that I am, I both embraced and proposed to you while muddy. How is it that you have accepted me?"

"Do you truly not understand?" Miss Elizabeth asked.

I shook my head "no." "Please, dearest," it felt wonderful indeed to call her by an endearment, "enlighten me."

"Then and today, you cared more for me than for appearances. Your actions convinced me that your affection for me was genuine, that my well-being was of utmost importance to you."

Her words told me she was a woman above all others, who saw my intentions, who put the best possible interpretation on my imperfect efforts. It was so much more than I deserved! I almost felt maudlin, but that would not do.

I tried to think of something to say, to lighten the mood. I glanced down at Miss Elizabeth's hem. "It appears you have not escaped unscathed, either, despite my best efforts."

Miss Elizabeth's eyes cast down upon herself and she must have seen as I had, that at least the bottom four or five inches of her skirts were caked with mud. I expected her shoes were as well, though I could not see them beneath her skirts. I was glad she was not wearing her yellow dress.

Her eyes widened for a moment and then she gave a hearty chuckle, "Are you convinced of my affections given that I have not a care as to whether my dress and shoes are ruined?"

"Yes." I told her, "You have never been more beautiful than now," and I meant my words. While her clothing might be stained, her eyes were bright, her cheeks were rounded with her smile and it was I that was making her look happy. And added to this was the promise that someday soon she would be my own wife, that I might always bask in her smiles. "Besides, why should you mind? Soon enough I will buy you gowns by the dozens."

We resumed walking and, in a moment, we were almost at the front door to the parsonage. Mrs. Collins must have been waiting for us as the door swung open before we reached it and she gestured Miss Elizabeth to enter. Reluctantly, I believe, Miss Elizabeth released my arm.

"I bid you adieu, Miss Elizabeth, Mrs. Collins." It was a struggle to move my eyes from Miss Elizabeth to acknowledge Mrs. Collins.

"I bid you adieu as well, Mr. Darcy," Miss Elizabeth answered while Mrs. Collins merely nodded. I watched until the door closed behind them before turning to make my journey home.

I did not like hearing my beloved call me "Mr. Darcy" again, for I longed to hear her call me by my given name. What would "Fitzwilliam" or better yet, "My Fitzwilliam," sound like from her lips?

I wondered if Miss Elizabeth would always call me "Mr. Darcy." It was not unusual for husbands and wives to address each other formally.

I resolved that when it was just her and I, to address her by terms of endearment at every opportunity. For she was my beloved, my darling, my love, and I never wanted her to doubt my affections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verse that Darcy is thinking of is Ruth 1:16. As given in the King James version, which is the version Darcy would know, it reads: "And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God."


	43. Interlude 5: Miss Elizabeth Bennet: Accepting Mr. Darcy

My trip to see the Collinses was far different than I could have ever anticipated. I had not known that Mr. Darcy, his sister and his cousin would be visiting Rosings, but even if I had known, I would have expected that I would meet Mr. Darcy as an indifferent acquaintance. I could have never anticipated that Mr. Darcy would express his admiration and wish to know me better, or that when I understood him better that I would welcome his attention. I certainly would have laughed if anyone would have told me that I would visit my sister in London as an engaged woman.

I should have noticed Mr. Darcy's interest in me far earlier than I did; I should not have required him telling me how he felt in Kent. I had noticed him staring at me, but I was determined to attribute it to him wishing to find fault in me rather than seeing that if he disliked me he would have tried to be in my company less. Yet from everything Mr. Darcy has told me, he was continually seeking me out, even going so far as to sit near me in the Netherfield library, hoping I might speak to him, give him some sign that his interest was returned.

I still do not understand how Mr. Darcy could fall in love with me, when I had not even a single kind thought of him. Yet still, he claimed my discarded bit of ribbon as someone else claims a precious treasure!

When that bit of ribbon got caught and ripped off my skirt, I knew it of course. Not being a wasteful sort of person, I considered trying to pull it free, but when I saw how badly snagged it was I knew I could not reattach it to my dress and I saw no reason to keep the length I could have trimmed from it.

While perhaps I may be excused from believing that Mr. Darcy could not find me handsome when he said as much to Mr. Bingley at the assembly, I should have been more observant, should have seen his discomfort that night. But having my vanity challenged, I willfully determined to hate what I did not understand. I was blinded, willfully blinded, a Saul with no road to Damascus, happy to listen to every report that confirmed my impression, blinded by Mr. Wickham's appearance of goodness that had more to do with charm and manners, than any substance. I own also that I was somewhat naïve, having lived a sheltered life in a small community.

And besides being blinded, my focus was elsewhere, fixed upon my dear sister Jane; always Jane occupied my attention. Jane is the model of ideal womanhood, as she is so lovely, gracious, modest, humble, and kindhearted. I knew in the natural order of things that Jane, being the oldest and most deserving, was meant to find a far higher match than I would ever aspire to have. I never thought, truly, of finding my own suitor before Jane's happiness was assured.

It felt as if all my dreams for Jane were coming true when I saw her glowing when on Mr. Bingley's arm at the assembly. I longed to protect her when she was forced by the machinations of our mother to ride to Netherfield on horseback as it looked like rain.

Jane is too delicate for her own good and I was not surprised when Jane fell ill and needed a sister's tending. I hurt for her knowing that while she had a drippy nose and feverish brow, she could not forward any interest that Mr. Bingley might have in her and my mother's plans were for naught. I was encouraged that when Jane was finally well enough to descend to the parlor that she inspired Mr. Bingley to build the fire high and place her near it with a solicitude I found most promising indeed.

While my mother might be the consummate forwarder of promising pairings for my beloved Jane, it has always been a desire of my heart to see her blissfully happy, and it seemed to me that hope was realized with Mr. Bingley when they danced together at Netherfield. While I was mortified to hear my mother speak of it before an engagement was offered and accepted, I agreed with her sentiments that it was all but certain.

Who else but Mr. Bingley could be Jane's equal in kindness? Who else but Mr. Bingley could appreciate Jane's gentle, self-effacing nature? Who else could be a match for the woman who always sought to see her fellow man and womankind as better than they were?

It was Jane who urged me to not judge Mr. Darcy solely through Mr. Wickham's words, who sought to explain their being at odds as some dreadful misunderstanding. It was Jane who always tempered the worst of my impulses, Jane who would never begrudge me the happiness that now awaited me. Jane was the one who the one time she sought to take my and Charlotte's advice was treated to all the censure I deserved. It was my dear sister, Jane, who deserved the happiness that I had somehow stumbled onto.

Because of all of this, the picture I had of Mr. Darcy then was a poor reflection of the real man. It had fully escaped my attention that Mr. Darcy favored me, until he drew out a handkerchief to collect my tears over how I had failed Jane and I saw my ribbon entwined with his string fall upon the ground. How could I not be moved by such a sentimental, almost childlike gesture? How could I not seek to understand the man who knew what grave errors I had made in seeking to understand his character and yet, inexplicably, steadfastly, patiently was seeking to correct all misapprehensions that I might consider him? How could I not be charmed by such faithful devotion directed toward me?

In some ways Mr. Darcy reminds me of my dear Papa. Both desire their solitude, both are highly intelligent and well read, both have no need to fill silence with idle chatter. They both have intricate characters that are not easy for outsiders to understand.

In the relationship that Mr. Darcy and Miss Darcy share, I see my own relationship with my beloved Jane in their kindness to one another, how they know how to help and to soothe the other, the way each would sacrifice for the other. If I knew nothing else about Mr. Darcy, I would know almost all I need to know simply from observing his relationship with his sister.

There is a refreshing innocence and candor in Mr. Darcy. He does not hide behind polite niceties when we are alone but for his sister. He is honest with me about the good and the bad. I have never known anyone like him and while I know he thinks less of himself for how he is, I cannot help but admire his bravery in sharing his struggles with me, in continuing on even when it might be easier to hide himself away.

Although I have certainly enjoyed the company of Miss Darcy and will happily become her sister, she was not who I was thinking of while confined to the parsonage from the rain. Almost as soon as we were in Lady Catherine's carriage returning to the parsonage, I was missing him.

That night as I struggled to sleep, I kept recalling how I felt when we were holding hands under the table and the gentle smile, he cast my way. There was a certain tightening in my belly, a little catch in my breath a sort of longing for something more. Before that night, while I had welcomed his attentions, it almost felt like a game we were playing, but then it became very real.

When Georgiana told me about the song, "Good morning, Pretty Maid," and explained what it meant to her and her brother, I knew immediately that I needed to play it for him. I was familiar with the tune and it did not take long to master the fingering. However, in the version I knew, the maid refused to marry the farmer's son. I suspected Mrs. Darcy had altered the words to give it a happy conclusion for her children.

Life has so few happy conclusions, certainly Mr. and Miss Darcy have had their share of tragedy in losing both their parents, that I decided to never mention the lyrics that I knew. I wanted to play the part of the maid who chose the farmer's son, not the maid who rejected him.

Being confined at the parsonage on Wednesday, Thursday and believing that the same would be true all day on Friday, rather than having the opportunity to see Mr. Darcy was almost unbearable. So, when I spied him slowly riding toward the parsonage on a mount that was more mud than beast, knowing that he came but with the single-minded purpose of seeing me (for what other purpose could there be?), I knew what he meant to me. But still I tried to deny it for it felt too soon.

Although I stood still and was outwardly calm, I felt like a little rabbit, frozen in fear, trying to decide which way to dart. Even as I considered hiding in the guest chambers and instructing Charlotte to say, "She is not at home," I realized what a nonsensical approach that would have been. There was nowhere else I could be, and I had no wish to discourage him. It would be cruel and serve no good purpose, for I knew I intended to accept Mr. Darcy in the end.

Charlotte soon enough came over to see what had captured my gaze. She told me, quietly, "It is not my company that inspires Mr. Darcy to torment his mount to visit here. He comes for you, Eliza, and you alone."

I asked her, quietly also, my cousin was at work on a sermon upstairs and we hoped to keep him there, "What should I do?" I was not looking at her but still out the window at Mr. Darcy.

Charlotte replied, "If I could have captured such a handsome and wealthy man I would not have hesitated long enough to get to know him, but would have happily tied myself to him and let the falling in love happen afterwards, but I know you well enough to know that this would not satisfy you. Too, over these past weeks you have been in company much, enough to get a measure of the man I think, perhaps to decide about love. So, I ask, do you know your heart yet?"

I knew the answer, of course, but it was too precious a thing to talk about with her. Instead I just gave a nod, trusting that she would see it.

"You shall be happy then, I am sure. Just do not forget us after you marry. Mr. Darcy surely has much patronage in the church."

I felt a bit horrified that my bosom friend might be hinting that Mr. Darcy could reward my ridiculous cousin with an additional living. I turned to look at her then for just a moment, to see if she was in earnest, but truly I did not look at her long enough to tell for sure before I turned back to the window, just in time to see him dismount and slip. I heard myself gasp and then sigh in relief as it appeared that all was well except for his gloves.

Charlotte must have seen something of my dismay when I had glanced at her, for she said, "Can I not tease you Eliza? I thought you dearly loved to laugh. I confess, when I was able, I have tried to help you both along. Rest assured, any interference I made was kindly meant, intended purely for your benefit." Still, I did not think she was joking in thinking of how such a connection could benefit her.

As Mr. Darcy approached the door, I resolved to be brave, to not shy away from him. Yet, I wondered how much we might be able to speak once he came in, for surely Mr. Collins would hear his voice and come to join us and dominate the conversation. While Charlotte might purposefully be a lax guardian, I had no doubt that my cousin would take his duties as a chaperone and my nearest male relative most seriously.

I told Charlotte in a whisper, "We shall not have any chance to speak should your husband learn that Mr. Darcy is here."

I had no solution to this problem, but Charlotte can be clever. No sooner had she opened the door, then she proposed that Mr. Darcy take me on a walk. Clearly that whole idea was ridiculous given all the mud, but she did not even let me go to fetch my bonnet, gloves, and spencer. Instead I found myself all but shoved out the door, her shawl cast upon my shoulders.

The look of heartfelt delight in Mr. Darcy's eyes when I outside with him, made it quite evident to me that a walk was a brilliant idea. Although we did not talk at first, I was perfectly content to be beside him. I knew then that my heart was with him, that I loved him as truly as he loved me and that I could not be happy until all our days were spent together as husband and wife. There was no need to be coy, to play the games that some couples play. He simply needed a quiet spot where we would not be spied upon, where we could do and say what we needed to.

Fortunately, I knew the perfect spot, so I drew him behind the hen house. He had already told me of his love and, thus, there was nothing to do but to confess how much I had missed him and hope that might be enough to urge him on. I did not expect us to kiss before he proposed, but it felt right, to let our lips express what we both knew was true.

Having never kissed a man before, I am not sure what I was expecting. It felt so natural to lean in toward him, to run my hands along his arms, to reach around his neck and pull him down and closer to me. I felt safe, I felt warm, I felt treasured and I felt a longing deep inside me to be joined with him. It was easy to say yes to Mr. Darcy when he asked, as by then I could not imagine my future life apart from his.

Life has been difficult for Mr. Darcy and he needs a helpmate more than other men and that is what I can give him. I am not blinded to his failings; I understand all too well that when we marry there will be difficulties aplenty. I know there will be times that I will long for the ease that would come from being married to a man that is easier to understand.

And yet, in walking along with him, I felt happiness in the life that I chose. He is worth it. The love we share, that crept up on me hardly without me knowing it, though in meeting almost every morning it was clear we were courting, is a thick rope that binds us together even before any vows are exchanged.

When I reentered the parsonage after having accepted Mr. Darcy's proposal, everything was different than before. I obediently stood where Charlotte bid me, where a square of flannel had been laid out so I would not muddy her rug, turning so I could watch as Mr. Darcy mounted his horse and then slowly rode away. While I rather think Charlotte suspected what had come to pass, the feelings I felt were too precious to be shared with a mere friend, even a friend as longstanding as her, at least for a while. There was a gulf between us with her marriage to my cousin; she had chosen to be practical and settle for a ridiculous man with fine prospects.

I knew our situations were different, but in feeling the love I now had for the man who would become my husband, I felt yet again a certain sadness for Charlotte's situation. Though it was of her own making and she seemed content enough, I could not imagine her having even a small portion of the joy I felt, though that joy was also tempered with a bit of fear and trepidation. I had accepted Mr. Darcy, could not take it back, had no desire to take it back, yet in saying "yes" I had run off a precipice as fast as my feet could carry me, was even now plunging through the air, trusting that the water beneath was deep enough to cushion my fall and that I would know how to swim, without ever having swam before.

As I stood in my wet shoes on the flannel, the parsonage's maid approached with a sniff of disgust, bearing a basin of water and several flannels. "We must untie your shoes and get you out of them," Charlotte told me.

"Not just yet," I replied, still watching the tiny form in the distance that was Mr. Darcy on his horse. When he was out of view, I opened the parsonage door and walked out to where his horse had been tied. I had an idea that Mr. Darcy might have left something behind.

I found his gloves upon the muddy ground. The one that was soaked with mud, from when Mr. Darcy had caught his fall, was half embedded in the drying ground and seemed more mud than leather. It took a hard tug to pull it free, and I almost fell myself in the attempt. While I was able to right myself, I saw that more droplets of mud had splattered on me. Afterwards, I held it well away from me as muddy droplets continued to drip down.

I found the other glove on a patch of grass. It was unsoiled. This one I grasped tightly in my left hand.

I picked my way carefully back to the parsonage door and stood upon the same square of flannel once more. The maid collected the soiled glove from my hand, "Ruined for sure," she said, "Still I will do what can be done."

I continued to hold the other glove tight and let the maid untie my shoes and pull them off, and my stockings followed after. Charlotte herself dabbed at the worst of the mud on my skirt.

When Charlotte was finally satisfied that I was dry enough to safely reach the guest room I was sharing with Maria, they accompanied me upstairs. Maria had been taking a nap as there was precious little to do that day and I managed cast Mr. Darcy's remaining glove behind me into a corner of the room before Maria fully roused at the clatter we made.

Almost immediately she exclaimed at my dirty appearance. "Miss Elizabeth, I fear your dress is ruined. Why ever would you venture out today?"

Charlotte told her sister, "You know how Eliza likes her walks."

Charlotte assisted her sister in dressing while the maid removed my dress. I told them, "Maria, if you are well rested now, I think I should like to nap."

I stayed in the room in my shift while the other women left, the maid complaining about all the work I had made for the washer woman. Charlotte was the last to leave and I could see from a look that she gave me, that she dearly wanted to hear what had occurred, but she did not try to stay. One of Charlotte's virtues as a friend is that she knows when to let me be.

There among the furniture that was not my own, I lay upon the bed and imagined that I was back at Longbourn sharing a bed with Jane and speaking of how our late night whispered hopes to only marry for the deepest love were now coming to fruition. However, I knew that was a conversation that I could not have with her, at least not now. It would be cruel to speak of my happiness while hers was denied.

So instead, I imagined that I was with my beloved Aunt Gardiner in London, after her children were abed, my uncle occupied with some business matter and just the two of us. Then I imagined telling her about my intended and how everything had come to pass. But I would not tell her about how Mr. Darcy kissed and embraced me before he proposed. That detail would remain a precious secret for me alone.

After a while, I got up and retrieved Mr. Darcy's glove and then climbed back into bed, pulling the counterpane over me, ready to hide it under the covers if anyone should come in. I felt a little foolish at the sentimentality that had inspired me to retrieve it. In a novel I had read, a man claimed a woman's lost glove, but had never read of a woman doing likewise.

I examined the glove closely. It was a left glove made of brown leather. It looked rather new, with only a little wear, and was much finer than any of the gloves my father possessed.

I had likely seen this glove countless times before upon Mr. Darcy's hand, but it was different seeing it empty. I brought the glove to my nose and sniffed it. The glove smelled of leather, horses and him.

I slipped the glove onto my own left hand. It was ridiculously large; my fingers did not even reach two thirds of the way up the fingers and I could have easily put both of my hands in it. I closed my eyes and gently ran the glove against the side of my face and then down along the column of my neck. I imagined that Mr. Darcy's gloved fingers were touching me there. I slid my hand a little lower but stopped when a finger on the glove reached the top of my shift.

I opened my eyes and slipped the glove off, I clasped it between my two hands. What I truly wanted was Mr. Darcy here with me and not his glove.

I got up, placed his glove at the bottom of my half-packed trunk, and then returned to the bed. I closed my eyes and tried to calculate when we might be married. Such an event might be just a few weeks away or could possibly not take place for several months.

I imagined our wedding, whether I would just wear my best dress, or the yellow one which matched my ribbon, or if my mother would want a dress made especially for the occasion. I thought about standing up next to Mr. Darcy before all of my neighbors in Meryton and us saying our vows, him slipping a ring upon my finger, of becoming Mrs. Darcy.

Then I imagined that evening, when I went to bed, how Mr. Darcy would visit me as my husband. I had a vague sense of how such an event would take place, but I hoped it was not like how a stallion mounted a mare.

I thought about how we had kissed and embraced, the feeling of Mr. Darcy's hands upon my waist and then my back, how I had wished to be closer. I imagined his hands touching me in places that were decidedly less proper but could not truly imagine what would happen then. Still it seemed a grand adventure, and soon all of it would happen to me.

I skipped over what I did not know and then I imagined afterwards, how Mr. Darcy might fall asleep next to me. I visualized awaking in the morning with his strong arms around me. How I longed for all of this to happen soon! I was certain that becoming Mrs. Darcy, for all its likely difficulties, would make me far happier than I deserved to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed VMC I. I am still at work revising VMC II (which is part two of this story) and have many other writing projects in process. I will post the first few chapters of VMC II but then you will have to wait for more. VMC III still mostly only exists in my head.
> 
> If you have enjoyed this work, please leave a comment. I would appreciate it.


	44. Story Theft

February 2nd Update:

Well I received an email regarding my copyright infringement claim, from Amazon which stated that "The Kindle item you identified appear to have been removed from sale on ." I think that means that Amazon actually acted pursuant to a complaint received prior to mine, but the matter is concluded. I want to thank everyone who notified me of the theft, posted negatives reviews and complained to Amazon. The fan fiction community rocks! We win; yay!

I have since learned that Amazon will not post reviews which have the words "thief" "plagiarized" or "stolen" but apparently does not have a problem with the word "stole" (as I was able to use that word in my review and get it approved). You can say things like "not this author's work" and a work-around is to post a review that does not contain those words and then edit it later. I ran across this issue before in regard to the word "screwed" which was not approved for a product in which I was literally describing how something came together.

February 1st 2nd Update:

As of now, the page for the story is gone! Yay! I am guessing it was pulled as Amazon investigates as I have not heard back from Amazon yet.

February 1st 1st Update:

Earlier I posted that someone stole my story and put it on Amazon under the title "The Candlelight Engagement." I learned this from two very kind fanfiction users who messaged me. I requested help from readers in posting one star reviews indicating that it was stolen. I reported the copyright infringement and am waiting for Amazon to act.

As of now, there are 4 negative reviews including my own. I have also received many kind reviews here and pms. Thanks so much!

I've been messaged by a couple of readers that they can't post reviews to it on Amazon now. I was hoping that meant Amazon had taken action, but as the story is still available for purchase. I suspect Amazon has an algorithm to prevent a whole string of negative reviews from going up at once. If you still want to help, click the "helpful" button under these negative reviews.

I am still considering what to do per my other stories; at this point it is good that I have all of VMC I up as it helps to prove my ownership (as it is a violation of Kindle Unlimited to have the whole story up somewhere while in that program and FF gives the date that I started posting it).

There is a line coming up in VMC II that Mr. Gardiner speaks to Darcy about the Earl, which I think also speaks to the situation I find myself in: "I do not believe those that are good should give up all that they hold dear only to try to avoid harm from those who are not." I hold sharing my stories with you all dear and don't want to give that up.

However, my decision as to what I need to do will depend upon what Amazon does and how quickly. I need to also figure out if there is a way to search Amazon to see if any of my other stories have been stolen, which is a challenge as the title and description of the above give no clue that it is my story. I will keep you posted.


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